


The Sailor and the Siren

by sobachka



Series: Zoyalai Works [13]
Category: Nikolai Series - Leigh Bardugo, The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: F/M, Grishaverse Big Bang, Grishaverse Big Bang 2020, Minor Character Death, Siren!Zoya, Slow Burn, Thoughts about Murder, i mean its ravka cmon, zoyalai
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:35:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 22,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26192035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sobachka/pseuds/sobachka
Summary: It is not wise to ignore a Siren’s call, but it is far more dangerous to answer one not meant for your ears.Zoya Nazyalensky is more than just a girl. Though she was raised on the farmlands of Chepek under the care of Lilyana Garen, she cannot hide what she truly is. When the King of Ravka falls ill, and a ship carrying the Crown Prince home passes near her shores, Zoya may take the monarchy’s future into her own hands. As a creature of the sea, she attempts to lure away the Prince, but a sailor dives in to save him. Zoya is forced to keep the sailor from drowning and loses her opportunity to kill the Prince that same night. Desperate to see her plan through, Zoya travels with Nikolai, Captain of the Volkvolny, to Os Alta, where they will meet the next King of Ravka. Could it be possible for a friendship to form under such unexpected circumstances? Could something bigger lay in store?
Relationships: Nikolai Lantsov/Zoya Nazyalensky
Series: Zoyalai Works [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1789732
Comments: 45
Kudos: 59
Collections: Grishaverse Big Bang 2020





	1. Chapter 1

_ — This is the one song everyone _

_ would like to learn: the song _

_ that is irresistible _

If one were to cross the True Sea under cover of night, hoping to remain unnoticed, one would not head to the docks of Os Kervo.

It had been a week since a ship was dispatched to collect the Crown Prince of Ravka, and a week was ample time for rumors to spread. Zoya had heard nearly every whisper, exchanged in the dim lights of taverns when  _ kvas  _ had loosened the tongue of sailors, gossip told by curling lips as they sipped from cups of tea and snacked on plates of  _ pashka _ , and the chime of notes carried beneath the keels of ships sailing through the True Sea.

There was truth to each of these stories, she knew, woven shrewdly into the falsehoods. Zoya had spent the week tracking each rumor to its source, weeding out the inaccuracies. The King had fallen ill, they said, and Prince Vasily would return to claim the throne. It had all landed her on the shores of Arkesk, a little ways off from a small port. Here, if all went well, she would intercept the Crown Prince's voyage.

Zoya lifted her head now, letting her hands sink into the sand as she leaned back to look at the sky. It had a dark beauty to it since night had taken over. The sky was devoid of stars, like a stage cleared out for the lead performer. She found herself admiring the moon as it illuminated the heavens. There was a gentle breeze blowing from the sea, and she let it wash over her, clear her mind before the impending disaster.

The calm before the storm, she'd heard it described. Liliyana's voice came to her now, as the air seemed to shift around her _ , be that calm, Rybka, _ she would say, calling her by her pet name, little fish. The irony.

As Zoya watched a shadow growing amid the dark waves, she pushed away any guilt left from their last argument.  _ This is what needs to be done, tetushka. _ The Calm could not complete this mission. No, to do this, Zoya had to be the Storm.

Zoya stood, letting the night hide her form, and took silent steps toward the water. Her feet left imprints upon the sand, but those were quickly erased by the gentle waves that reached to pull her in. It was a particularly cold night, and the water promised her warmth and comfort. 

It had been difficult to resist when she was a girl, the lure of the sea, and the call of her sisters. When Lilyana had discovered her, hardly six at the time, knee-deep in seawater and singing sweetly to a young boy to join her for a swim, she had taken her in immediately. It was the reason they had moved from the town of Tur to Cherep, a small village near Udova.

Far from the sea, and far from harm.

She'd lived with Lilyana since that incident, mastering the ways of the land folk the way an infant might his first steps. So long that she could almost forget the sea and the girl she once was.

Her mind traveled to the incident a few weeks prior, when the royal messengers had first arrived, bearing news for the villagers, and Zoya had feared they had come to collect the yearly tax. They charged each house a set fee for the parents, and then double for each child in their care.

Lilyana was a generous woman, terribly so, and had taken into her humble home any child in need. Zoya was the oldest of the five that currently lived under Lilyana's roof, and was just as much their carer as their sister. The soldiers that usually took care of this business turned a blind eye to the children, bribed by Lilyana's kind words and her baked goods. And the occasional verse from Zoya that ensured their cooperation. The family had hardly enough as it was.

Lilyana had left that morning on an errand, and the kids were under Zoya’s care until she returned. So when three carriages had rolled onto the dirt road leading to the farmlands, pristine white and emblazoned with the Ravkan double eagle, Zoya had taken her siblings away. She led them out of their small living room and left them hidden in a shed, lest they decide to inspect the house. Zoya was nearly of-age and would face the tax soon enough, so she left the children and headed off to keep an eye on the messengers.

But they did not approach any of the small wooden houses lining the farmlands. In fact, the only person they spoke to was the owner of the farms in the village, a petite woman with hair colored gray with age, and the fierce, determined air of someone who knew what it was to fight for every right you knew you deserved. Zoya, along with several other villagers, watched from a distance as the soldier, an arrogant looking pale man in a black ensemble, handed Mariana a folded letter. Zoya narrowed her eyes, just barely making out the gold stamp before Mariana tucked it into the sleeve of her coat. 

A few more hushed words were exchanged, and Zoya watched the older woman's smile tighten, the lines of her face becoming more pronounced as she nodded along to whatever it was the man had said. Then, he turned heel and went straight to his carriage, as though afraid that if he stayed any longer, they might contaminate his coat. 

Zoya watched the carriages roll soundly away, leaving nothing but dust in their tracks. Neighbors and friends were already swarming Mariana, desperate to learn what had transpired with the soldiers. No one had missed the odd look on Mariana's face. 

Something cold settled in the pit of Zoya's stomach, and she quickly made her way over to Mariana, worn shoes sinking into the newly-tilled earth. The villagers were whispering intently, gathered around the small woman. 

"-there's nothing to be done, Artur-" she was saying.

"-they won't get away with this-!" Artur responded angrily.

"-I'll give them a piece of my mind!" this from little Adrik.

Mariana looked despaired, strands of her gray hair falling from its braid as she looked around. Zoya's heart sank. What had they done to her this time?

" _ Enough. _ " she said, her voice gentle but firm. That silenced all those around her. It was easy to forget, with her small form and old age, that Mariana was a leader, and that everyone here labored under her hand. 

"The Prince is unjust, but he pays well. You will each get your share and find someplace to start anew. It is what needs to be done." with that, she left their startled group behind and headed for her small cabin.

"What's happened, Efrem?" Zoya said, catching hold of the boy's hand before he could leave. There was a sorrowful look in his eyes, his usual crooked smile replaced by a sad tilt of the mouth.

"They’ve... They’ve taken our land, Zo. We’re meant to be gone in a month’s time.” Zoya let his hand fall away, shocked into speechlessness.

“What?” she said, her voice quiet to her own ears, but Efrem only shrugged.

“What’s to be done? We’re merely farmers, Zoya, and he is the Prince.”

A week later, the Crown Prince had left on a trip- though none had been told it’s location- a mission, she’d heard, to retrieve a package from one of the neighboring countries. 

Two weeks after that, he was back. Back just as the King is nearing his end, just in time to reclaim the throne he didn’t deserve. And once he rules Racka, there was no hope of dissuading him from touching the farmlands- they’d have her head for questioning the new King.

Zoya snapped out of her thoughts. The water had reached above her waist, and Zoya let her hands float just beneath its surface for a moment. She’d studied Science and Theory, all from outdated books, worn thin with time. It was a straightforward equation. If a component disrupted the experiment, it had to be removed.

She eyed the ship once more, silhouetted against the dark sky. Then, Zoya ducked her head into the water, letting it wash over her senses, engulfing her until she became one with the waves. 

Her eyes opened to the true beauty that lay beneath the surface. To an average human, the saltwater would burn and the darkness would cloak the sea's enchantments. To Zoya, the shadows parted, and the ocean glowed with a different kind of light, one special to the creatures that thrived below the surface. She could just make out the coral lining the seabed, long green seagrasses reaching to touch the surface, and the shapes of the creatures resting in between. They sensed her, she knew, as she did them.

Like calls to like.

Zoya couldn’t help the pleased smile that graced her face as she took it all in. She had missed the sea so very much, and she suspected it felt the same, like a mother watching out for her babies. 

Like Lilyana watching out for her wards.

Zoya tore her eyes away from the plants, realizing that she’d been swimming lower and lower unconsciously.  _ The ocean is an alluring beauty, Rybka, do not get lost in her depths. _

She looked up to the clear surface, just a thin film between one reality and the next, and saw a shadow growing smaller in the distance. If she didn’t hurry, the ship would be gone before she could even glimpse its sails.

She let her fingers run over the ridges that had appeared on the side of her neck- it had been so long since she’d had need of gills. The changes that overtook her body when she became a Siren were few, but they were noticeable. She knew about the gills from her own experience, but she only learned about the eyes from Liliyana. Human, her eyes were the blue of the sea, plain and simple, but as a Siren, they became a thing of legend. They were a kaleidoscope of color, a dangerous color like that of stormy clouds, dark and menacing, but also enchanting.

Liliyana had told her once they resembled a tiger's, but Zoya had always thought of them as the eyes of a Dragon.

Zoya swam closer to the shadow, her legs as familiar with the movements of the sea as they were with treading the earth. The ship's hull seemed to grow, a deep black cutting through the waves. She kicked at the water until she was closer to the ship's side and then broke the surface. 

She was dizzy for a second, as her body processed the change, but she floated effortlessly, the waves gently urging her forward. The cabin was dark, no lanterns could be seen lit, and she had to assume that the crew was asleep, still a few hours away from their destination. 

_ Good _ , Zoya thought. This would make her task much, much easier to complete. She closed her eyes, reaching with her mind to locate the right waves. It was like searching blindly through a box of tools, looking for the one with just the right shape and just the right feel to it.

He wasn't difficult to locate. He had the aura of self-righteousness coming off him like a nasty odor, the only one she could sense detached from the others, both in mind and body.

_ You _ . She latched onto it. Zoya had just opened her mouth when something grasped her foot, pulling her forcefully beneath the waves. She gasped, her mind lost for a moment, too conflicted to assess the changes between the dark above and the luminous ocean below.

The thing released her, and Zoya looked down to see a head peeking up at her. A girl with pale skin like marble and locks the color of spun gold stared up at her with wide eyes as green as the coral reefs. She shook her head in warning, pointing up at something Zoya had not noticed. A gold symbol splayed subtly on the bottom portion of the ship's hull. 

The Ravkan double eagle. 

_ The pompous bastard _ , she thought.

The King had been paranoid about traveling the sea, claiming that Sirens roamed its depths. He had, supposedly, promised to pay a large sum to any sailor who would capture one of the creatures and bring her to the castle. Within days of the announcement, the waters had been quickly cleared. News traveled just as quickly by song as it did by word.

Now, it seemed the girl feared for Zoya and the risk she planned to take. But Zoya merely shook her head, placing a hand over her heart.  _ I am bound by duty to complete this, _ she told her. The girl eyed her warily, but did not try to stop Zoya as she swam back up to the surface.

Zoya had to catch up to the ship once more after the Siren's intrusion, and she was beginning to feel a bit prickly by the time she'd returned to its side. She plucked the same mental chord she had the first time, and opened her mouth, letting out a song both beautiful and deadly, like the glint of a knife's edge.

When she had practiced in her youth, Zoya had discovered that the song did not matter, just the intentions behind it. So she pulled at the tether between her mind and the Prince's, filling his ears with a sound too sweet to ignore.

Moments later, a face appeared at the ship's taffrail, cloaked in darkness, looking drunkenly over at the sea. She did not need to see his face to know the effects of her song. She could just picture the Prince's blue eyes glassy, his body losing control of its movements as it answered the call.

_ Come to me _ , she sang to him, letting the song end on a seductive note. She was left dizzy with the effort of it, but she watched the form throw a leg over the rail and hurl himself overboard, desperate to get to her. He landed near her with a splash, and Zoya cringed at the sound.

Her song could only be heard by her victim, but that splash was bound to alert someone on the ship. By all the saints, did he have to be so loud?

Before he could start kicking at the water and causing more noise, Zoya reached out and fisted the material of his shirt in her hand. His head lolled to the side, as if he were asleep, his half-lidded eyes unseeing. 

Zoya wrinkled her nose. However did they get stuck with a monarch like this? 

Before she could voice any of these thoughts, a light flickered on. Zoya's heart jolted into her throat. If anyone noticed the Prince's disappearance… well, perhaps she was quick to dismiss the rumors about the King.

"Vasya?" A voice called into the darkness.  _ Saints _ , she had to get out of this place, and quickly.

She ducked her head underwater, pulling the Prince down with her, but not fast enough. The voice called out again, sounding panicked. Zoya caught a glimpse of golden hair before a second splash sounded from above, disrupting the waves.

The fool had hurled himself overboard, after his Prince.

Zoya had swum a reasonable distance down, and she could just make out the shape that had joined them in the green-tinted glow of the ocean. The tide was getting more robust, and he had to fight to keep steady.

She watched as the man squinted into the darkness he saw, trying to keep close to the surface as he searched the waters' depths.

But he was no creature of the sea, and she did not like intruders.

The tide was pushing him away, dragging him lower. Zoya was trapped between the overwhelming desire to bolt and the small, human part of her that wanted to save this foolish sailor.

She felt the weight in her arms begin to sink, dragging her with him.  _ Saints _ , what had she gotten herself into? She didn’t have time to think through her next step. Her mission had been compromised, and now, there was an innocent life on the line.

Zoya shoved the Prince's body up toward the surface, forcing him to break through the waves and take in a water-filled breath.

The ship had been forced onward by the strengthening tides, leaving two bodies behind. Zoya ducked back underwater, searching desperately for the other sailor. For a moment, she saw nothing save a school of fish that were passing by, then she spotted him. A head of golden hair being steadily pulled downward.

The Siren girl had hold of him. Zoya swore, leaving the Prince struggling for breath as she surged downward, headed for the girl.

She was cradling the body in her arms, seemingly oblivious to the man's struggles. But there wasn't much he could do, the weak human. They never lasted long.

The girl looked up at Zoya and hissed, like a disturbed cat, protectively wrapping her arms around the man.

Zoya rolled her eyes and let a melody roll off her tongue.

The sailor was innocent. But the girl shook her head and responded that Zoya had claimed one for herself and she had a right to the other.

Zoya reached out and pulled the form away from her.  _ Take the other _ , she snapped, then raced towards the surface, swimming wildly toward the shore. 

_ I will not be the reason he dies _ , she determined.  _ I will not. _

Zoya reached the shore quickly, heart thumping frantically in her chest. The ground met her as she climbed out of the water, gravity reclaiming her and the, apparently heavy, weight she dragged behind.

Zoya drew him onto the land until the water was only tickling her toes, then let him fall limply onto the bank.

She remembered Lilyana's lessons, from when they'd lived by the beach, and a little girl had nearly drowned. She placed her hands over his heart and began trying to pump life back into him.

The wind was whipping at her damp clothes, making her shiver, her wet hair clinging to her face as she leaned over him and repeated the process. She placed a finger against his throat, searching for a pulse.

None.

Zoya felt more alone on that shore than ever before. She cupped the man’s face in her hands as if she could bring him back just by sheer will. He had the complexion of a sailor, skin tanned from too much exposure to the sun, his golden locks clinging to his face.

His very young face. 

Zoya had only ever had one use for her song; to get what she needed from others. Whether it was the Collectors wanting to dupe Lilyana into paying them double, or the rich folk coming to pick on Zoya’s brothers. The trick, she had soon learned, lay behind the song’s purpose.

So she took a deep breath and let a soft melody leave her lips, one of healing rather than demand. Her thumbs brushed along the sailor's cheeks as the notes left her.

It was new and different, and she wondered if maybe someday she would regret it. But even when Zoya had decided to let the Prince drown, she had made sure to spare his crew. She could not allow an innocent to die in her arms without even attempting to save him.

The sailor's eyes fluttered open, they were the color of honey, and they seemed to sparkle in the night. Zoya sucked in a breath, ending her song. Had that actually worked?

The man sputtered, coughing up seawater onto the sand. Zoya watched him struggle to breathe for a moment before falling back onto the land, eyes slipping shut again.

Panicked, Zoya thought he might have gone under again. She pressed two fingers against his throat and felt a light, fluttering pulse meet her fingertips. 

He was alive.

"I don't know who you are," she said to the unconscious form, her relief quickly replaced by irritation, "but you're a complete idiot.”


	2. Chapter 2

_— The song that forces men_

_to leap overboard in squadrons_

_even though they see the beached skulls_

Zoya leaned heavily against the trunk of the nearest tree, watching through heavy-lidded eyes as the first rays of sunlight peeked out over the Sea, staining the sky a multitude of colors, ranging from deep violet to the lightest shade of pink. It cast a shimmering film over the Sea and the overall effect was almost dizzying.

She let her eyes slide shut for a moment, fatigue clawing at her as her mind ran through the night’s events.

She couldn’t have left him. Despite telling herself otherwise, despite having marched deep into the woods in the dead of night, despite him remaining a threat to her identity, Zoya could not abandon the sailor to whatever fate the Sea may choose for him. So, nearly halfway through the woods, hardly able to see what lay ahead due to the thickets of trees and the branches that concealed the moonlight, she had turned heel and came back.

Zoya might have taken the easier route, the route of the Sea, which took little effort and was like a cool drink on a warm day, soothing her nerves. Saints, she ached for it. And perhaps if the ache was not so dangerously strong, she may have given in, but again and again, Lillyana’s voice would echo in her head.

 _The Sea is a treacherous maiden_ , she would say, _and the stronger her pull is, the tighter her hold will be once you give in._

Was Zoya so different? She had wondered as much at the time, but now the question returned, unbidden, to plague her tired mind.

 _No_ , she insisted, pushing off the tree and straightening, Zoya was neither a creature of Land nor of Sea, and her path would be her own to make.

With this thought sobering her up, she marched onto the beach like a soldier prepared for battle. This particular part of Ravka was almost abandoned. There had been plans to rebuild it, make a site for tourists to come straight from Os Kervo’s port, with small wooden houses lining the beach and campsites in the forest, but once the King realized it how much would cost him, he had tossed aside the idea and sent away the advisors who had proposed it.

Now, it was nothing but vacant land, a blanket of sand unmarked by footprints or any sign of life.

Well, vacant, save the body sprawled on his back, the waves that had reclaimed a portion of the land coming up to tickle his feet.

Zoya approached him carefully, just as much wary of the stranger as she was of the Sea. But when his face came into view, the sunlight encasing him in a golden glow, and turning his hair the color of burnished gold, she noticed his eyes were still closed.

Zoya frowned, crouching low, and placed a finger to his throat. The gentle thump-thump of a live, beating heart rose to meet her instantly- though his skin was damp with sweat and his hair was sprinkled with sand, the sailor was alive.

He was asleep, the idiot.

 _Oh for Saints’ sake_ , Zoya thought irritably. She’d returned for him, an hour’s journey through the forest, and he wanted to sleep until noon?

Zoya thought of Akeno, the young Shu boy who’d come to live with Lillyana less than a year ago, his intelligent amber eyes, the excited smirk that curved his lips when he discovered something new. But mostly, she was reminded of the way he insisted on lazing off on mornings when the farm was most in need of care, when she would march into the room the younger kids shared and dump a cup of water onto his face to wake him.

She considered doing this now, only there were no cups around, and she did not want to risk nearing the Sea just then. Instead, Zoya patted his cheek lightly, but the Sailor only turned the other way, shutting his eyes tighter.

“Hey,” Zoya snapped at him, leaning over to pat his other cheek, forcing his attention on her, “Wake up!”

Groggily, his brows furrowing with confusion, he opened his eyes. And blinked. Zoya pulled her hands away from his face, and glared down at him, but the sailor only smiled, cocking his head slightly to the side.

“Hello beautiful,” he murmured. Zoya rolled her eyes. She really shouldn’t have come back for him.

“Get up,” she snapped again, standing up and crossing her arms. 

He didn’t move for a second, watching her, his eyes lost somewhere between amusement and surprise.

“I said get up, or on all the Saints, I will leave you here in the scorching heat,” Zoya informed him, her tone taking on a sharp edge. In truth, he had one more chance to get up willingly, before she resorted to her abilities. But she wouldn’t use them just yet, since though they were immensely useful, they were also memorable and had a way of returning to the minds of those she compelled in a silky, dream-like way. 

Still, in a country like Ravka, one steers clear of any chance they may be caught in affiliation with Sirens.

“It’s not scorching,” he said thoughtfully, though he pushed himself up on his elbows, sitting up and allowing his feet to sink into the damp sand. “It’s hardly sultry, even. More like,” he cocked his head again, in thought, “moderately hot.”

Zoya gave him an exasperated look, “Seriously?”

“More than moderate?” he offered, “Can we find a middle ground?” 

“Oh for the love of-” she let out a frustrated breath, _why did I come back?_ “get up!”

The man only brought his knees up, slinging one arm across them, as though he, in his wet trousers and loose white shirt, was a master among his servants. All humor seemed to vanish from his expression.

“I don’t know who you are, Miss, but I’ve got the oddest feeling you know who I am, or at the least how I came to be here,” he glanced around, frowning, “wherever _here_ may be.” his gaze was back on her now, regarding her carefully, and it was strange how quickly those bright hazel eyes had become calculating.

 _Clever_ , she thought. Did he recall anything of the night before? Did he remember the Prince jumping, the Siren? Did he remember her song? She paused a second to contemplate this.

“A beach. That’s where _here_ is. Not far from Os Kervo,” she said, choosing to stick to the small truths.

“And my ship?” he asked, straightening a bit and looking past her, as if hoping it might appear once he’d mentioned it.

“ _Your_ ship?” Zoya blinked. He was young, hardly older than her, surely he was not the captain of the ship that had been carrying the Crown Prince?

“Yes, mine,” he replied, slumping back as he seemed to realize it was gone. “What happened to it? What happened last night- where’s my crew?”

 _So he doesn’t remember_ , Zoya realized with some relief. Uncertain what exactly she could tell him, without revealing too much of her own story, Zoya approached the topic cautiously.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” she asked. The sailor’s eyes drifted away from her’s, focusing on the waves, which were inching closer and closer to the shore then pulling back, as though they might have the answer. 

“There was a sound- a crash, maybe? I remember looking for… a member of my crew-” _the Crown Prince of Ravka_ , she filled in, “-and not finding him. Was there a storm? I think I'd fallen in, I can’t quite recall, it's all sort of-” he curled his hand, waving it near his head as if to indicate his scattered thoughts, “-jumbled? I must’ve blanked out, but after that…”

Zoya held her breath, waiting for him to look up at her with fear, to point an accusatory finger at her and call her out for treason, to say he remembered her song. Could she kill him to get away, after spending so much energy trying to keep him alive?

A distant look overcame his features, as if lost in a daydream, but a second later he shook himself off, shrugging, “after that, it fades into a dream.”

“That’s all?” she asked casually, ignoring the way her heart began pounding loudly in her ears. 

“I _did_ dream I heard a voice,” the sailor added, thoughtfully, “singing. Good singer, really- the voice of an angel.”

He sank back into the same easy humor and relaxed manner the way one would with an old, but comfortable, coat. Zoya laughed, hoping she sounded normal, mocking even. In the King’s ridiculous speech on Sirens, he’d made one particular point that had piqued her interest. He’d called them demons of the ocean- angels that had sinned. Both beautiful and terrible.

“The only angels around here have long since fallen,” she replied, tossing her hair back and straightening. He eyed her curiously, but Zoya had had enough of his questions, and they were both going to be in trouble if the Crown Prince’s body turned up while they happened around the same abandoned beach.

“Get up,” she said again, more forcefully.

This time, maybe because she’d spoken to him, or because he realized there was nowhere else for him to go, the sailor obeyed, standing up and stretching, then dusting the dirt off his soaked trousers, and shaking his head like a wet dog- sprinkling sand all over the place.

When he deemed himself finished, he fisted his hands on his waist and turned to Zoya, a cheerful smile on his face.

Zoya raised an unimpressed brow. He looked like he’d spent the night rolling around in the sand- and his happy demeanor only gave the impression that he hadn’t been alone.

“Nikolai Sturmhond,” he said, holding out a hand, “Captain of the Volkvolny. Pleasure to meet you.”

Zoya was about to roll her eyes when the name clicked and she stopped dead. _Sturmhond_. Anyone who’s ever crossed the True Sea knew that name. From what she’d heard- pirate, ruthless, said to have been a soldier for the Ravkan army- she had expected an old man, smartly cut beard, a tad short, the tendency to fold his hands behind his back when he spoke.

“The pirate?” she asked doubtfully, watching his expression become almost smug as he ascertained that she had, in fact, heard of him. His hand fell to his side when she didn’t take it, and he shrugged.

“Privateer, really,” he corrected, “but I’ve other titles I prefer,”

Zoya decided she didn’t want to know what he meant by that. 

“And you are?” he prompted, eyebrows raising.

“No one you need to remember,” she said, brushing him off.

For a moment neither of them spoke, Sturmhond’s eyes were back on the Sea, as though he hoped to will his ship into being, and Zoya’s mind lost someplace else entirely.

She had failed.

She had avoided acknowledging this fact with the Privateer’s life in danger, but it was there now and it was gnawing at her insides. The farmlands Liliyana earned her living from, her and every other villager- the only work most of them could have, with no family, no status, and not enough skill or education to do much else- gone. The Prince would take it all, because Zoya had failed to kill him.

 _Take the other one_ , she had told the other Siren. Was it too much to hope she had? That she’d been angry or desperate enough to accept any offer?

But Zoya had learned early on that hope was dangerous. It was a thief that slipped into your mind and robbed you of the chance to plan, so lost were you in its lies and comfort.

She could not let herself be so easily fooled.

“What did you do, exactly?” Zoya startled, practically flung back into the present, her clothes slick against her skin, icy with the cool breeze that came with the Sea, and the Privateer still regarding her carefully, once more discarding his coat of humor.

“What are you talking about?” she asked, eyeing him. The song? Surely not, he’d already proved to know little of last night’s events.

The corner of his mouth twitched up and before she could stop him, he reached out and tugged on a strand of her wet hair.

“You’re soaked,” he said, “and I woke up on a beach with only the memory of having crashed into the waves.”

_He knows, he knows, he knows-_

“And?” she replied, tone slightly accusatory. He pulled his hand back, giving her a one-shouldered shrug that seemed oddly regal for a man who’d spent his days captaining a ship.

“I like to know when I’m indebted to people- particularly if they’re also stranded on a beach with no way out.” he responded.

“We aren’t stranded- and you aren’t indebted to me.” she snapped back, not sure why either statement bothered her, only that they each appealed to a different side of her.

The Siren part of her knew that with the Sea near, and she was always near for her children, Zoya was never truly alone.

The human part of her knew that any man who could shift so easily from one persona to the next was not one to be trusted, or in Zoya’s case, entangled with. 

And that was what debt was, really, debt of any form. Strings that became chains and bound people. It was why the King kept his people low and hungry, constantly in need of him, constantly indebted to him. Constantly chained to him.

“No?” he cocked a light brow at her, “I’ve many talents, but I don’t recall swimming-while-unconscious to be one of them.”

Zoya let loose a frustrated breath, she didn’t have time for games or debts or whatever this idiot wanted. She had far more pressing matters to deal with.

“Os Kervo is only a few days’ walk from here,” Zoya said slowly, her low voice only adding to the music of the ocean around them, “I imagine that’s where you’ll find your crew.”

And Zoya needed to get to the castle before the Crown Prince, and then, she needed to ensure he never reached it.

“I can’t go to Os Kervo, there isn’t time for that sort of delay,” he said, and for the first time since he’d woken up on an abandoned beach, he sounded troubled. 

“And what grand appointment does a Privateer have?” she said, mocking, “the Crown Prince’s coronation?”

“Yes,” said Sturmhond, his shoulders sagging with some invisible burden, “that exactly.” 

Zoya blinked. “Pardon?”

“Two days,” he said, as though those words alone held some immense weight, “I have to be at the Grand Castle’s gate in two days.”

Zoya did not tangle herself with other people. She did not take debts or give them. She did not allow others to hold any power in her life.

Yet her lips curled into a smile. Perhaps some binds were worth the temporary hold, and perhaps some people could be tolerated long enough to aid her. 

Or perhaps she was about to make the biggest mistake of her life. Still, she brought a finger to her lips, in that vexing way the girls did to attract attention, as if just realizing that all their desires could be met if they took the gentleman’s offered hand.

“What a coincidence,” she said, her voice deceptively musical in a way that was entirely human, and she watched the Privateer’s eyes follow her touch, “so do I.”


	3. Chapter 3

_ — The song nobody knows _

_ because anyone who has heard it _

_ is dead, and the others can't remember. _

“I thought you said there was no time for delay,”

It was late afternoon, bordering on evening, and they had finally gotten out of the woods, a trek made longer by both her exhaustion and her companion who, to put it gently, would not shut up the entire time. The only time he’d fallen silent, no longer nagging her with questions and stories-  _ is Zoya an alias? I spent a week traveling with a Shu sailor who went by a new name every day _ \- was when they’d reached a small town, the type of place that had wooden wagons displaying small ornaments, and souvenirs for those new to Ravka, fresh off a boat from Os Kervo.

She'd thought it was because the people noticed them- vendors calling after them, shouting words she recognized as Fjerdan and Suli, attempting to lure them in with what they assumed to be their native tongue- but that didn't explain his reaction. He'd stopped completely, mid-step, his eyes trained on a place just past a large, bearded man selling customizable shells. Zoya looked back at him, frozen in place, his hazel eyes widened just the slightest bit, and followed his gaze to a tavern, the swinging wooden sign labeling it  _ Zvonok Sireny,  _ The Siren's Call.

“Always waste what you don’t have,” Nikolai responded cheerfully, pushing open the door to the tavern. Zoya followed, because there wasn't much else she could do. Sturmhond had reason to be in Os Alta. And Zoya needed a legal way in.

The Siren's Call was a dingy place, orange tinted with light pouring in from the single open window, which did little to air out the strong smell of  _ kvas _ . She recognized a larger group of men in the back as sailors, pirates maybe, with bandanas tied around their heads and strings woven into their hair. Mostly men, with cups that were practically jugs sloshing with drink as one of them began to sing- but there were women as well, whom, she guessed, came from the Pleasure House, their dresses thin and low-hanging, smiling seductively and leaning closer to the sailors. One was even perched on the largest pirate's lap, though her smile looked more forced than the others.

Zoya looked away, clenching her teeth. What would these women give to have her abilities? To have the men do their bidding rather than the other way around? And not for the first time, Zoya considered singing the whole lot of them into the deepest end of the ocean.

These were the thoughts that distracted her to the extent that when she turned, Zoya collided with another form.

She thought it was a boy, a young boy, the tilt of his eyes marking him as Shu, with a short crop of dark hair- but then the person looked up, golden eyes gleaming, and Zoya realized she was a girl. When she caught Zoya's gaze, the corner of her mouth twitched into a smile, sharp as a blade.

And in a second, she had pushed past Zoya and was gone.

Zoya was frowning when she turned her attention back to Nikolai.

Nikolai, who now sat rigidly at a table further inside the tavern, staring at his lap.

Zoya paused, then approached carefully. When he still didn't look up, his golden hair falling into his eyes, she sat down across from him at the table, which was wet from a previous customer's spilled drink.

"Two days. Do you hope to spend one of them devising ballads to the Sea?" She asked, and her voice was laced with steel. They'd travel together, that was the plan, to reach Os Alta's gates. There, Sturmhond would attend his event, and Zoya would complete her mission. 

_ And we’ll get back our farm, tetushka.  _ She would get it all back for her family, for the villagers- and Vasily, neither as prince nor king would stand in her way.

Nikolai looked up at last, and there was something in his eyes that reminded her of the time Liliyana returned to the house and discovered her jewelry had gone missing, that someone had taken it all from her and rummaged through her belongings. They'd had to eat from their own crops that week, which resulted in a smaller delivery and some very angry customers. It was a look that said  _ it's all over now. _

And in a blink, it was gone. Nikolai let an easy smile grace his features, leaning back and tucking something- a piece of paper?- into his shirt pocket. 

She filed that bit for later.

"I'm afraid I've never been a very talented singer," he said.

"Are you admitting to a flaw?" Zoya replied with some surprise, in the few hours she'd known him, the man had claimed every good fortune and blessing to his name, she'd almost expected him to name himself a Saint.

"It's a matter of perspective- is singing truly a talent? Would it downplay my beautiful face if people were distracted by my voice?" he waved over a barmaid as he spoke, "How much power can a song wield, anyway?"

_ A damn good amount _ , Zoya thought, but kept that to herself as a woman appeared, holding up a tray with one hand, the other fisted at her waist.

"What can I get for ya?" She asked, her Ravkan accent light, the way it was with most newcomers, still not quite accustomed to the harsh letters the language held. 

Nikolai ordered two drinks she'd never heard of, and the woman pranced off, already blushing and giggling from the wink he'd sent her way. Zoya rolled her eyes.

"How exactly do you intend to pay for that?" She said through clenched teeth, leaning forward to be heard over the bad singing.

"Don't you worry about that," Nikolai replied, swiping his messy hair away from his forehead, he leaned back, stretching his legs out and crossing them at the ankles.

And just as he had at the beach, he transformed. His eyes sharpened, the honey-colored swirls narrowing as he watched her closely. His features seemed to sharpen, as she became his sole focus.

"You want to get to Os Alta," he said. "Why?"

Zoya cocked a brow at him. So this was the game he wanted to play? Well, she was the reigning champion.

"You hid a slip of paper when I sat down." she replied. "Why?"

The corner of his mouth twitched, and Sturmhond regarded her once more before uncrossing his legs and leaning forward in a formal, business-like manner.

"Tell you what," he said, voice low, "a question for a question. Honesty for honesty."

Zoya lifted her chin, disliking the way he seemed in control, or as if he wanted control. But she needed answers. She needed to know things about the Crown Prince, about the coronation in two days. She needed to know if he remembered her song.

"I was supposed to meet someone at the beach," she said slowly, her words chosen carefully, "but he never showed. There's something of mine in his possession- something I want back. Os Alta is his next destination."

Her heart was beating loudly in her chest, the sound blocking out most of the sailors’ drunk song, even as some words broke through-  _ she's beauty, she's death, and she'll take us all with her- _ but her eyes were on Nikolai's. Every word she'd spoken was the truth. He searched her face for a moment, then seemed to realize that much.

He nodded, as if this confirmed a prior belief of his, then reached into the pocket of his shirt, just as the barmaid appeared again, setting a jug in front of each of them. She lingered a moment longer, tossing her hair over her shoulder, as Nikolai fished both the paper and a few copper coins from his pocket.

He gave her an appreciative smile, sliding the coins onto the table in front of her, then turning to Zoya. Before he could unfold the paper, Zoya cast the woman a deathly glare, wishing, not for the first time, that her abilities worked on women as well as men. She huffed indignantly and stomped away, leaving Nikolai and Zoya alone once more.

He'd set the paper down in front of them, tilted so she could read what was written. In messy handwriting were just a few words:

_ He's gone. _

_ They're coming for you. _

Zoya's eyes snapped up to Nikolai's, understanding dawning on her. The Crown Prince was, thanks to her, missing- if not dead. And the person charged with his safe delivery had conveniently disappeared.

"Who gave you this?" She asked, then cursed herself for it. A question wasted, when he might yet have offered up the answer on his own.

Nikolai took the paper back and refolded it, tucking it safely into his pocket once more. 

"A member of my crew," he explained, "I don't know how she knew to come here, but I'm sure if she found me that easily…"

He trailed off, his meaning clear,  _ others would follow. _

_ They're coming for you. _

Zoya felt something in her chest tighten, was that her fault? Had she put his life in danger?

_ Well no one forced him to jump after his bloody prince. _

"Now, answer me this:" he said, watching her carefully as he spoke, "Last night, did you in any way contribute to my survival?"

_ Smart _ , she thought, he'd chosen his words carefully. Zoya contemplated this for a long moment, her eyes flicking to the brown-ish drink set before her.

"Yes," she said, then took a gulp of the drink before more words could tumble out-  _ do you remember? Is this all a ploy? Are you turning me over to the King? _ \- and found that the liquid burned her throat and left an acidic after-taste in her mouth.

"Why?" his voice was quiet, his eyes trained on his own drink, whatever feelings he had were shielded by the blond locks that fell to conceal his eyes.

And perhaps it was because he was no longer watching her that the answer came so easily to Zoya, "because you didn't deserve to die."

And when he looked up again, she glimpsed that same shattered look before he hid it behind what she was beginning to call his  _ mask, _ face erasing one expression and filling it in with another, emotions readjusting so quickly one had to assume the first had been a mistake.

"Why," Zoya said, taking a larger gulp of the horrid drink and wincing, "is a privateer attending the Prince's coronation?"

Again, he seemed to calculate his response, "because I've known the Prince since he was a little boy."

_ Of course, _ Zoya thought, realizing suddenly that the answer should have been obvious. The only reason a person would throw themselves into the ocean after someone was  _ love _ . Or maybe… not love, but an infatuation. Perhaps he felt responsible for the Prince.

Zoya wanted to press further, was already deciding on what question would be worth the risk of being asked one herself, when Nikolai rose from his seat. Zoya looked up with some surprise- they'd hardly touched their drinks- and found his eyes trained on something just on the other side of the tavern, where the window was still left wide open.

Zoya followed the look, and saw to her horror that a pair of guards in golden plated armor, the Ravkan double-eagle emblazoned over their hearts and weapons gleaming in the sunlight, were speaking to the large man who sold the shells.

He pointed them to the tavern.

"I think," Nikolai said slowly, gaze flicking down to Zoya and then back up again, "now would be a very good time to leave."


	4. Chapter 4

_ —Shall I tell you the secret _

_ and if I do, will you get me _

_ out of this bird suit? _

The wooden door slammed shut behind them, and the two were thrust into darkness. It must've been a closet, or someplace intended for storage, it was that small, and with nothing but a shelf of dusty old bottles, the space seemed to only get tighter. Hardly three wooden sides and a door- and with that shut, Zoya was left with very little room to move.

Less to breathe.

They were practically pressed up against each other, though not by choice. Zoya comforted herself with the knowledge that if this fool were to try something on her, she had her song's protection. Better yet, she could just throw him out and let the guards take him away.

Still, Zoya found herself not particularly discomforted by their proximity, which bothered her even more. She could feel his breath against her neck, the warmth emitting from his body. He smelled like the ocean, and that smelled like home. She didn't mind it much.

_ Saints, _ she thought,  _ am I the one under a song's spell? _

It was only because she was so hyper fixated on his movements that when Nikolai leaned to the right, pressing a hand to the door, she stiffened.

Nikolai chuckled, "we're alright so long as they don't open this door."

"And if they do?" She snapped back, but Nikolai seemed unconcerned, and she felt rather than saw him lift a shoulder in a shrugging motion.

"We'll burn that bridge when we get there."

"Wise words from a pirate." 

"Privateer."

Zoya let out a frustrated breath, cursing all the saints above that had brought her to this moment, stuck in a closet with someone more concerned with the state of his hair than the actual impending disaster.

"How'd you know about the prince?" Nikolai asked in a murmur, his lips just grazing her ear.

Zoya startled, pulling back so forcefully that her head slammed against the wall behind her with a loud thump. He had the audacity to chuckle as her head began to pound with pain, and Zoya wondered yet again why she hadn’t abandoned him at the beach- better yet, when the ocean had been ready to swallow him.

“I don’t have to answer you,” she said through gritted teeth.

“No?” he responded, “I thought we had a deal,”

She almost rolled her eyes.

“Honesty for honesty? You still owe me two questions, Sturmhond, and if-”

A hand came up and pressed against her mouth before Zoya could finish her sentence. She sucked in a surprised breath, and had just readjusted her leg to knee the idiot in front of her, when Nikolai’s face appeared before her, a finger pressed to his lips.

It was the fearful look in his eyes, the only thing visible in the dark, that made her stop dead. 

She followed his gaze down, where the barest line of light could be seen between the floorboards and the door.

Shadows moved across it, and as her heartbeat began to pick up speed, Zoya recognized the sounds as footsteps.

_ Saints _ . If she was caught, and they discovered her ability, what would happen to her family?

What would happen to Zoya?

Just as these thoughts began to envelop Zoya’s mind, she snapped her attention back to Nikolai. What the hell were they going to do now?

Nikolai swallowed visibly, his face hardly inches away from her’s. He gave her an apologetic look, letting his hand shift, no longer covering her mouth, and instead cupping her face.

“Please don’t punch me,” he said, and then he kissed her.

Zoya was too startled to do anything at all for a moment, then instinct took over and she let her arms wrap around Nikolai’s neck, pulling him closer. She felt him smile against her lips, and considered shoving him away when the creak of old wood sounded just beside her, and light flooded the small closet. 

Zoya froze completely, she could hear low voices talking.  _ We’re caught, we’re caught, we’re caught _ \- but Nikolai only deepened the kiss, seemingly oblivious to the rough laughter coming from the open doorway, and pressed her against the wall, until the feel of him and the smell of the ocean had flooded her senses and the door swung shut without her even realizing it until he pulled back.

They were both breathing heavily, the darkness more a blessing now than ever before, as she could feel the heat in her cheeks.

Zoya lifted a foot, and stomped it on Nikolai’s. Hard.

“Ouch!” he pulled back.

“What the hell, Sturmhond?” she snapped at him, ignoring the way her heart was beating wildly in her chest.

“You didn’t seem to mind much, just now,” he replied, prompting Zoya to raise her foot again threateningly.

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry!” he said, dutifully stepping back.

Zoya glared at the silhouette of him, all she could see in the dark space, and felt her anger rise. She wanted to smack him- or push him against the wall.

She wanted to kiss him again.

_ Saints, I need to get out of here _ , she realized, but when she moved to open the door, Nikolai stopped her, pressing a hand against it to keep it shut.

“What will happen if they find you?” she asked, her eyes set on the closed door.

“I’d rather not think of that,” he replied evasively, but Zoya only turned her sharp gaze on him.

“You owe me two questions, Sturmhond, and those guards are still out there.” 

He sighed, relaxing his hold on the door as he seemed to realize what his answer would grant him.

“I’ve known the Prince for a long time, and he was under my care when he went missing- as you must know, already-” she did, obviously, “-but the King has never liked me much. If the Prince is not found and the guards bring me in, he’ll have no problem executing me, despite our history.”

Zoya mulled over this for a long moment, adding the new information to the puzzle that was Nikolai Sturmhond. She considered what to ask him next- about his history with the prince? Why, exactly, the King disliked him? Why his crew member abandoned him, knowing he’d be in danger?

“Then why are you going to Os Alta?” she said instead, feeling this was a reasonable question- not because she was concerned about his well-being, only because any issues that prevented his reaching Os Alta would hinder her mission’s success. And that was a risk Zoya could not afford to take.

For a long moment, silence met her question, and Zoya was beginning to think he would not answer it at all. But then Nikolai spoke, his words low, coming from a place she recognized as resentment.

“I have to be at the Palace in two days,” he said, “and I’m told that’s all the time our King has to live.”

Before Zoya could respond, Nikolai reached past her and cracked open the door, peeking out. From above his shoulder, she could see that the tavern was barren, save the two barmaids talking behind the counter, and just a few pirates she recognized from earlier. The large pirate, and the woman he was with, Zoya noted, were both missing.

“Alright, here’s the plan,” Nikolai said, closing the door and turning to Zoya, “once we finish our business in this town, we head straight to Novokribirsk, and from there, we hitch a ride to Os Alta.”

“What business do we have left here?” Zoya asked with a frown. With the minimal amount of light filtering into the room, she saw Nikolai give an excited grin, his hazel eyes practically dancing.

“Why, Miss Zoya,” he said, “we’ve to go shopping, of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehe fun zoyalai moments <3  
> the art for this chapter specifically is[ here!!](https://montherox.tumblr.com/post/628265127853031425/super-excited-for-grishaverse-big-bang-2020-one) and it's absolutely stunning go check it out !!


	5. Chapter 5

_ —I don't enjoy it here _

_ squatting on this island _

_ looking picturesque and mythical _

"You're an idiot," Zoya felt it was important for Nikolai to know this, but he just gave her a jovial grin in response, light brows raised slightly.

"Now, Zoya," he said, the way she often spoke to her younger siblings when they were being unappreciative. It was a tone that made her blood boil. "We both know you enjoy my lovely company,"

She wanted to slap him. And maybe, had they not been hiding in an alley between two buildings, just a few blocks away from the tavern they'd left, she might have.

Alas, Zoya had enough on her mind that beating her hazel-eyed companion would have to wait. With her back to the wall, she let her eyes trail up to the sky, where the sun could only be glimpsed by the streaks of gold it had left on it. Night would fall soon enough, and they would have to find someplace to take cover. 

A steady pounding began in her right temple, growing steadily until she had to clench her jaw against the pain. She had not eaten, nor slept in at least a full day- something Liliyana had worked long nights to ensure her wards never experienced, and it caught Zoya by surprise. She had always assumed that such an issue could never affect her so intensely. 

Yet, she felt her stomach rumble and winced at the sound it made. Perhaps if she could just let her eyes slide shut for a moment- maybe curing the fatigue would take with it the gnawing feeling in her stomach, but Zoya doubted it.

"I believe," said Nikolai, who was peeking around the alley wall and scanning the streets, "they've gone to search the houses."

Zoya frowned.  _ Houses _ ? Were they searching for the prince, or the person responsible for losing him?

Nikolai turned back to her, looking far more enthusiastic about the idea of stealing than he should.

"Right across the street, there's a small clothes shop, with only one man selling. I might be able to purchase something with the little I've got, but the rest is on you.”

Zoya blinked at him, the pounding in her head slowing her thoughts, “The rest?”

“Yes, I need you to distract him.”

Zoya cocked a brow at him, “Excuse me?”

“Talk to him,” he clarified, then with a small quirk of his lips Nikolai added, “unless you have other methods of distraction, then I’m all eyes and ears.”

Zoya shoved him away, letting loose a frustrated breath and turning the corner so she was in full view of the clothes shop. She took her time walking towards it, letting her bored gaze travel over the items.

Two sections across from each other with only one man attending to the right side. Zoya approached that end first. 

Set up like a tent, the way folk in the smaller towns on the outskirts of Ravka often displayed their merchandise, there were dresses tossed atop each other in an order only the vendor himself could understand. Hanging from the tops of the tent opening were twine necklaces, with charms and praying stones inscribed with the names of the saints attached.

Zoya’s attention caught on a small piece of cloth, shaped like a star, midnight blue with golden threading woven in an intricate pattern that she could not decipher. She reached out and laid it over her hand to examine it more closely, running her finger along the smooth raised lines as they circled each other. They must have been words, though she could not guess their origin or their meaning.

“Ah, that’s a good one,” 

Zoya jumped at the sound, her head snapping up in fear. The man- vendor, she realized, feeling rather stupid- was eyeing her thoughtfully, as if wanting to say something but unsure how to phrase it.

Zoya cleared her throat, remembering that she was there to distract, and that Nikolai, across the street, was attempting to snatch some clothes for them. 

“It’s very pretty,” she began, “what does this mean?”

“ _ ‘Soldier of the Sea’ _ ” he translated, hardly glancing down, as though he’d memorized it by heart. 

Zoya felt her heart speed. Surely they didn’t mean… 

“Sirens?” she asked, trying to sound normal. The man considered this.

“Yes and no,” he replied, causing Zoya to look up. He shrugged, “it’s an old phrase from a dead language, even the most dedicated translators have been wrong. But this one stumped them. Soldier of the Sea. Someone who would give their life for the Sea. A Siren, perhaps. Or a sailor. In the end, they deemed it both.”

“ _ ‘Soldiers of the Sea’ _ ” Zoya muttered, tracing the lettering with her thumb. 

Zoya’s mind began veering off topic, into legends she’d heard from her sisters, of times when both sides tried to claim the Sea as theirs. She supposed had they thought of it more like this, things may have ended differently.

They were soldiers fighting for the same cause.

Just then, an arm slid across her shoulders, pulling her into a half hug, the smell of salt and sea overcoming her senses. 

“Find anything you like, sweetheart?” Nikolai asked, voice casual. Zoya was very close to smacking him.

She looked up, ready to shove the cloth down his throat, but Nikolai’s hazel eyes were wide, and, despite the smile on his face, he looked distinctly anxious. He shook his head, ever so slightly.

“No,” Zoya said slowly, watching him carefully, “we’d best be on our way, I suppose.”

She reached out to set the cloth back on the piles of goods, but the man stopped her, closing her fingers over the fabric with a small smile.

“This one is for you,” he said, “you seem to have a taste for the sea.”

Zoya froze, wondering if he’d somehow picked up on the fact that she was Siren- had she conversed too casually? Should she have feigned fear? But then Nikolai was laughing, pulling her closer to him.

“What else is there to do when you’re young and in love?” he asked.

Of course.

Because they were both standing there, traces of sand in their hair and the smell of salt emitting from them.

Zoya let out a nervous laugh, then Nikolai was leading them away, and she’d never been more relieved to have him there, to guide her when all her instincts had fled.

“Trust me?” Nikolai said, hardly moving his lips, the same bright smile plastered on his face. Zoya swallowed, letting her gaze travel around the almost-empty street. There. Two men. Guards? Were they watching them? She caught one of their gazes and let her eyes slide away.

"Absolutely not," she replied.

"As soon as we turn the corner," he said, slowing his steps and steering them back behind the tavern. "Run."

She didn't trust him at all.

A few more steps. The two men turned from where they'd been admiring a set of glass plates. She caught the same pair of eyes watching her again. 

She had no reason to trust Nikolai beyond a free pass to Os Alta. She could find another way. She could abandon him then.

_ Soldiers of the Sea. _

The second they were out of view, Zoya set aside all her doubts and broke into a run, Nikolai just behind her.

Her bare feet caught a dozen too-small bits of rock that had fallen into the crevices between the cobblestoned floor. Zoya had to focus on her breathing, the way her heart was beating a hundred miles a second, Nikolai's footsteps just behind her-  _ I should've left him _ .

The world dipped around her, causing Zoya to stumble, the edges of her vision going black. Where were they headed? She could see trees again, another sector of woods between one town and the next.

She faltered, nearly falling, the ground coming up to crash into her, then someone was grabbing her elbow, lifting her up.

"Come on, you can't stay here-" Nikolai's voice. Her throat was parched, and the headache she had not been aware had gone was back twice as intense.

_ They're after him, not you. Rest. _

The thought was so sudden but so reasonable. Let them catch him. She felt her body slow, her movements becoming clumsy.

"No, no, no-" his voice again. Footsteps in the distance. Shouts.

Light sliced her vision, a pair of worried hazel eyes.

_ Leave, _ Zoya thought, and tried to form the words.

"You don't get it," his voice said from above, "they're after  _ you _ ."

And then everything went black.


	6. Chapter 6

_ — With these two feathery maniacs, _

_ I don't enjoy singing _

_ this trio, fatal and valuable. _

Zoya woke to the sound of crackling fire, the last wisps of her dream slipping away like smoke before she had the chance to hold onto them, leaving her with a racing heart and a frown. The Sea? Her mother? She had not had nightmares that left her feeling this way since she’d gone to live with Liliyana.

It was only when she thought of the Sea that Zoya realized she was warm. A blanket had been draped over her, not unlike the fabrics the vendor had been selling. She hadn’t stopped to wonder if Nikolai had managed to snag them some things before it happened.

Shouts. Racing footsteps. Pounding headache.

_ They're after  _ you _. _

Zoya swallowed, raising herself into a sitting position. It was dark, though not the kind that still had hints of light clinging to it, and Zoya concluded that she must’ve been out for hours. They were also, she noted, in what seemed to be another sector of woods, not unlike the one they’d crossed to reach the small town. The trees were farther apart here, creating a small circle of protection around the fire.

How had she gotten there?

_ Nikolai _ .

Who was nowhere to be seen.

Zoya glanced around, taking note of the carefully arranged logs that made up the fire, the bunched fabric that had been pillowed beneath her head as she slept, the pile of fresh clothes waiting for her.

Her throat was parched, and she swallowed against its dry quality. She stood, letting the blanket fall onto the floor and nearing the fire. She let her hands come up to feel the heat, warming her fingertips. 

They were after her. Why? She had been quiet. Subtle. Minus the sailor she’d accidentally dragged along and the prince she’d left for dead.

Perhaps not so subtle, then.

Zoya shook her head in an attempt to clear it. Then she picked up the first folded item and let it roll out, holding it up so it caught the fire’s light. It was a very simple dress, not unlike the kind Liliyana would wear on her outings to town, colored a dark shade of red with swirling white decorative lace lining the sleeves and neckline. 

The rest of the pile was made up of some undergarments, and a pair of boots tucked underneath. 

He really had thought of everything.

Zoya dressed quickly, surprised by how well everything fit. The boots she slid on last, and those were a size too big, but she was glad to have something to cover her feet since she had abandoned her own before going after the Prince.

The pile of somewhat-dry clothes she’d been wearing, Zoya tossed into the fire, knowing they’d only be extra weight for the rest of their trip. She watched the flames engulf the fabric, consuming it with a fervor, like starved wolves who'd been tossed a bone.

Something glinted in the firelight, just beside a stack of spare logs. Zoya frowned, crouching to see what it was, careful not to step too close to the raging fire.

A small basket, tucked within it were a few pieces of bread that had gone stale, and a thin knife, used for buttering bread.

This, she pocketed.

“Wouldn’t touch those if I were you,” 

Zoya froze at the sound, the sudden question of whether or not her song would work if her throat was dry coming to mind. She turned slowly and found Nikolai standing there, a grin appearing on his face as the light caught his form. His own clothes, she noted, were replaced by a fresh pair of trousers and a plain white shirt. 

“They taste awful,” he explained, in response to what must’ve been a surprised look on her face. “These are fresh.”

She stood, accepting a fresh roll from his offering hand. Nikolai looked her over appreciatively.

“I’ve an eye for dress sizes,” he said proudly, then with a frown, “You’d look better in blue, though.”

“Thanks.” Zoya replied drily, rolling her eyes and turning back to the fire. The roll was sweet and sugary, the type of confection they could ill afford to get a whiff of. Zoya let her eyes slide shut, letting the sugar melt on her tongue. What she would give to treat each of her siblings to a similar sweet. _Once we have our lands back..._

“You know, back there-” Nikolai said, interrupting her thoughts.

“You saved my life,” Zoya finished, voice slightly sharper than she'd intended “now we’re even.”

“I was going to ask if you were alright,” he said, coming closer to the fire, and then flopping onto the ground, legs crossed as he warmed his hands. She tried not to notice the way the firelight brought out the angles of his face, and turned his hair a burnished gold.

“I’m fine.” Zoya replied, swallowing the final bite of the sweet roll, and relishing the flavor. For a moment, neither of them spoke, and there was nothing but the crackling fire and the breeze blowing through the trees, shifting the branches, to fill the silence. For a moment, it was almost nice.

_ They’re after you _ .

“Care to explain?” she said, glancing down at Nikolai. His light brows drew together in thought.

“Well I’m no healer, but I think it’s safe to say diving after the handsome young sailor was perhaps not the best idea on an empty stomach-”

“Not that,” Zoya snapped. Any idiot could connect her lack of food or sleep in addition to overexertion would have resulted in her fainting. She was usually smarter than  _ any idiot _ , but today was a day of exceptions. “You said they were after me, what did you mean?”

Nikolai sighed, leaning back on his hands. He looked tired, and she had to wonder if he’d slept at all since the morning at the beach.

“There were two vendors, at the shop,” he began. Zoya frowned.

“But the clothes-”

“I bought them.” said Nikolai, “the other chap was young, chatty. Gave me a good deal. He helped me pick out the dress. The whole time, he seemed very interested in _you_."

Zoya sucked in a breath. She tried to see herself from that perspective. Fresh off the beach, barefoot, completely unguarded.  _ Distracted _ , she realized, remembering the decorated cloth. Had it been a setup? Had the first vendor also been after her?

_ Why? _

"He asked if I knew you, and- assuming he was interested in approaching you- I told him of course, we'd been married for a year now." Nikolai said, flashing her a charming grin.

Zoya raised a brow, but held back a comment when she remembered the way Nikolai had slung a hand over her shoulder and called her sweetheart.

"Did he tell you why he was asking about me?" Zoya asked quietly, folding her legs beneath her as she sat, a tad too close to the fire, the heat almost licking at her knees.

"He said you looked like  _ her. _ " 

"Who?"

" _ 'The Siren' _ apparently," he replied, and though he said it doubtfully, there was a tightness to his words. Zoya's finger inched closer to her pocket, and the knife she'd taken only moments before.

_ We're even. He doesn't need to help me anymore. _

"Siren?" She asked, keeping her voice casual.

"I'm not sure he meant it literally, just that there'd been rumors growing about a woman who'd tricked some royal messengers, as well as managed to convince a group of merchants to sell their goods for half the price."

Zoya frowned. She'd done those things, as well as countless others, all with the help of her song. Why were they after her now, of all times?

"They think she's the reason the Prince is missing. Rumors spread about her working with the Fjerdans, that they'd heard of the King's illness and she was sent to take care of the remaining monarch."

_ Saints. _

"And what does this have to do with me?" she asked, her heart speeding in her chest. They were after her, and there was nothing she could do about it. 

"She fits your description," Nikolai explained.

"Maybe she's just very pretty." Zoya countered. 

Neither of them spoke for a beat, and Zoya was distinctly aware of the metal blade resting against her thigh. She still needed a way into Os Alta, and her song was evidently more memorable than she'd thought. 

"Honesty for honesty," Nikoali began quietly. "Did you have anything to do with the Prince's disappearance?"

Zoya froze. She could feel his gaze on her, and kept her own eyes resolutely on the fire. Two days. She knew he was to be at the castle, and the guards were likely doubled now with the Prince being missing. If anyone could get her in, it would be Sturmhond. She still needed him.

Zoya turned to look him in the eye when she spoke, not missing the way the fire brightened his eyes, shining like embers of their own. So far, she could not detect an instance he'd lied to her in their little game. And for some reason, she could not bring herself to do the same to him.

"I haven't a clue where the Prince is."

Nikolai's hazel eyes shone in the darkness, as he studied her, gaze flicking over her face- was it her imagination, or did they linger on her lips? She shoved back the memory of the tavern, the feel of his lips pressed against hers.  He was close, she noted. They were close. Just inches away from each other. The firelight made the line of his jaw more determined, and made his features appear sharper. 

In that instant, he looked less like a pirate and more like… 

"I'll take the first watch." Zoya said, practically leaping to her feet, the heat in her cheeks having nothing to do with the fire. If she was going to get to Os Alta, and ensure the farmlands would be left untouched, she would have to do so with a clear head.

And with Nikolai, that was not the easiest task.

He hummed in response, but didn't argue. And Zoya settled on a log just a few feet from the fire. There was a rustling sound in the background as she sat, likely Nikolai rearranging the blanket and getting ready to sleep. The night breeze blowing through was sharp, a memory of the harsh weather Ravka carried with it through the year, even when the cold season had come and gone.

The royal officers were after her, she had a nickname among the people, and she was traversing the woods of Ravka with a conceited sailor who had ties to the crown. 

Her thoughts returned to the knife still buried in her pocket. It would be easy, she realized, to just kill him and walk away. Crime in Ravka was anything but uncommon, and it would throw suspicion off her tail. Could she make it to Os Alta without him?

_ I don't want to kill him _ . The thought was jarring, and it didn't rest well with her. She shook her head, this plan she'd keep as a final resort. Only if he's no longer of no use to her. Only if she can find a safe way to Ravka without him. Only if-

Zoya let her head fall into her hands. How had she gotten into this mess?

_ “You’re better than this, Rybka,” _

The memory of her last night at Liliyana’s sent a pang in her chest. It had been dark, her siblings long since asleep, and Zoya herself had intended to slip away unnoticed when Liliyana appeared at the door.

“Our livelihood is being sacrificed so this spoiled fool could get a new toy,” Zoya had spat, angry. The money they’d been offered would hardly compensate for a month of the farm’s goods. Land gone to waste, lives gone to a worse fate.

“And what will you do? Sing him into submission?” Liliyana’s arms were crossed, a sharp brow raised. “How far will you get before half of Ravka is sent after your tail?"

Liliyana had sounded angry, and she was the same woman who'd taken the news about the farmlands with ease. She almost never got to the level of shouting, and the fact that Zoya had pushed her that far made a string of guilt coil in her chest.

“I won’t let that happen-”

“What good are you to this family dead?” 

Zoya’s resolve had become more firm with that phrase. She’d straightened, lifting her chin.

“Then perhaps I’ll do the world a favor and give us all one less Lantsov to worry about.”

She sighed now, wondering how her family was doing. If they were asking after her. If maybe Liliyana had been asked  _ about  _ her. Would they know her name? Could they follow her back?

But Zoya knew better than anyone else that no matter what life she led, or how many people she’d attached herself to, an orphan was an orphan, and there would be no one to track her back to.


	7. Chapter 7

_—— I will tell the secret to you,_

_to you, only to you._

For the second time in what must have been less than forty-eight hours, Zoya found herself leaning over the sailor and shaking him into consciousness. 

“-what sort of abominable captain can’t even wake at dawn?” she said irritably. Nikolai’s brows furrowed in his sleep, but he only turned away from the sound of her voice, muttering under his breath.

“You’re spoiled, you know that?” she said incredulously as he pulled the blanket higher up his shoulder.

He opened one eye to give her a groggy half-glare, “the spoiled, rotten captain demands five more minutes, you horrible woman.”

“You do realize I won’t allow you peace after saying that, don’t you?” Zoya stood, crossing her arms. A beat. Then, Nikolai sighed, his whole body slumping as if to capture just a few more seconds of rest.

“This,” he said, sitting up and glowering at her, “is _exactly_ why my crew sails best at night.”

Zoya quirked a brow at him, “because their captain is lazy?”

Nikolai ran a hand through his tousled hair, mussing it further, and flashing her a charming grin, “because every beauty needs beauty rest”

Zoya rolled her eyes, “get ready, we’ve to be in Os Alta in less than a day or it’s both our heads on pikes.”

“I imagine we’d make a handsome pair,”

“Of pikes?”

“Of anything, really” Nikolai replied with a wink, standing up and gathering his blanket off the floor.

How a person, so dog tired, could still manage to flirt was beyond Zoya.

It took only a few minutes to stamp out the last embers of the fire and gather their scanty belongings. 

"Do you know why there are so many spaces with no woods between the towns?" Nikolai said out of the blue.

Zoya frowned as she continued to examine a hard loaf of bread before tossing it onto the forest floor.

"Why?" she asked, curiosity overtaking her. She had thought herself well acquainted with Ravka, but it seemed she knew only the wetter parts of the country.

Nikolai grabbed a fallen branch off the forest floor and launched into his story as they walked.

"During the second Ravkan war against Fjerda, many prisoners were taken. Hostages, most of them, and eventually those were released, but one man- Opjer, was an engineer. He had been a main asset in creating some of the more lethal weapons- the same ones the Fjerdans had used to nearly win the war."

It was odd, Zoya thought, watching as Nikolai told the tale, he gave the account with such enthusiasm one would think he had been there to witness it. Raised among royals, surely, but this was a man telling a story he loved.

"He was waved away as a drunk who didn't know the value of his knowledge, but he had a big mouth and a loose tongue. He was smarter than they realized. It didn't take long before the King and Queen had him brought to the castle."

"They employed him?" Zoya asked, incredulous. This much information had never gone to the public. He had to duck beneath the next low branch before continuing.

"Not exactly. My-" Here, he paused. Frowned. "The King valued him, and took his advice in many matters. But at the end of the day, no matter how well he dressed or how many banquets he was brought to, Opjer was sent back to his cell every night."

"What advice did he give them?" Zoya asked, heart sinking. She knew the outcome of that fateful war. It was the reason her family was left to starve on a farm that made hardly enough to survive.

"Opjer had been part of their military before becoming involved in their weaponry. He knew how to play to a person's strengths, and if you apply that to countries…" he shrugged, digging his branch into the dirt, "it didn't take long before half the forests were wiped out, clearing areas the King would later claim were intended to better house the people." 

"What could they possibly use that many trees for?" She couldn't help but ask. Nikolai looked up, gave her a small smile.

"That's the best part of the story, Zo, they never found out."

"You've got to be joking."

"I'm not, really," he replied with a light chuckle. "This man shows up, out of the blue, makes all these military advances on behalf of Ravka, cuts down our forests and then, just like that," he snapped his fingers, "gone."

"No one knew?" She asked, voice going quiet. Something seemed off about the whole story.

"Not a soul. And anyone who did happened to disappear just before the truce." Nikolai shook his head, as though the unsatisfying conclusion of events had a gaping hold he was blind to see.

There was a beat of silence, filled only by the rustling of trees before Zoya asked, "what about the trees?"

His frown deepened, "we've been using it as trade stock. Ravka doesn't have much else to offer, and they're already cut and done. It's a mistake we've been paying for every day since we made it nearly twenty years ago."

Just as quickly as he’d begun the story, Nikolai ended it, pulling back a branch to reveal the edge of what must have been the next town, "enough about politics, what's on the menu for lunch?"

Zoya let the topic drop, but the uneasy feeling in her chest remained with her even as they made their way into yet another town, only hours away from Os Alta. 

Twenty years was enough time to prepare a battalion and return for revenge.

Ravka, Zoya was beginning to realize, was made of levels. Like steps on a staircase, each town became grander and more luxurious than the last, with Os Alta as the final and most impressive of all.

She could almost feel the difference. The last town had been full of folks who earned their livelihoods by the day, a set of silks from the newest Zemini shipment in Os Kervo, fresh barrels of kvas rolling in from the harbor. Here were the people that- perhaps not benefitted, but certainly not the ones who were harmed by the outcome of the war. 

Well-dressed merchants and foreign ambassadors roamed the streets. There were no tented shops or open bars like the last town. It was a jarring difference.

Nikolai seemed to relax, if only slightly, seemingly oblivious to their appearance in comparison to these well-dressed folks.

They looked like they'd stumbled into the wrong novel.

"Is it just me," Nikolai began, speaking through a charming smile, "or does there seem to be an abundance of people dressed in black?"

Zoya frowned. She'd been so focused on how they themselves looked, she hadn't noticed. But once Nikolai had pointed it out, it seemed obvious. Women were dressed in ebony colored silk and men in sharp tailored suits to match.

"What is this, a funeral?" She whispered back. They were receiving some odd glances now. 

Wandering aimlessly was going to get them nowhere, and they needed to cross this town to reach Os Alta. Zoya glanced at Nikolai, who had his eyes intently focused on a poster board.

"Nikolai-"

"Miss?" The voice came from below, and when Zoya glanced down, she was surprised to see a little girl, brown eyes wide. She had on a dress, also black.

"Um- yes?" Zoya glanced up and around, searching for the child's parents. She would never leave her siblings to wander the streets and talk to strangers.

"Mommy said the new King doesn't like red, but I think that's a pretty color," she said, her voice carrying the hushed tone of someone used to being quieted when she opened her mouth.

Zoya glanced at Nikolai, who must have latched onto the same words. New king?

Before she could respond, he had crouched down in front of the girl so they were both eye-to-eye. 

“I think black is a nice color too, don’t you? It’s the color of the sky at night,” he said, turning her attention up to where the morning sun was high up and the sky was stained varying shades of blue.

The girl’s face scrunched up in thought, “I like the stars more.”

“Well, if the sky wasn’t dark, how could the stars be so bright?” Nikolai replied in a whisper, as though this were a secret the two now shared.

The girl considered this for a moment, and then nodded, seeming to accept this explanation. _He’d be good with Navya_ , Zoya found herself thinking, remembering the youngest of Liliyana’s wards, a Suli girl with wide eyes and a wider smile.

Before either of them could inquire after this ‘new king’, a sharp voice called out, “Annika!” 

The girl shrank back, looking embarrassed, but Nikolai only gave her a smile and whispered something in her ear.

She laughed, glancing at Zoya quickly before looking away. The voice called out again, and this time, she only cast Nikolai a grin before racing off to meet the caller.

Nikolai stood, gazing after her fondly. When he met Zoya’s eyes, she raised a brow, admittedly curious about what he'd told the girl.

“It’s a secret, I’m afraid,” he said, hands raised defensively.

Zoya shook her head. It occurred to her that, if she wanted, she could get the truth out of him with her song.

For the first time, Zoya recoiled at the thought.

“Does it have anything to do with the King?” she asked, changing the topic quickly. 

“No,” Nikolai admitted, though he did not sound displeased, “but we do have something to rely on.”

“And what might that be?”

“When a major event shakes the country, the poor suffer, but the rich? They celebrate.”

Zoya frowned, following his line of sight to a large poster board with clippings for different events, and there, right in the center, is the announcement for a masquerade ball. 

Tonight.


	8. Chapter 8

_ — Come closer. This song _

_ is a cry for help: Help me! _

The problem with attending a masquerade ball in a town one had never so much as crossed, was not the clothes, nor the invitations, both of which could be acquired, but the time. 

If, she had reasoned, they attended the ball and learned what they could about this ‘new king’, the two might still be able to breach Os Alta’s gates by nightfall.

That was a nice thought, though it did little to quiet Zoya’s worries.

The new King. Could  _ he  _ have made it to Os Alta? Had there been a coronation? Was the old King dead?

And why was it that no one would say a word about the matter?

She contemplated leaving, abandoning Nikolai and finding her way back to her family. On the off-chance the Prince- now King- did not recognize her… 

But then she’d be back at square one. Her whole village’s livelihood threatened by a monarch too stupid to care how his actions were affecting others. And it was far more difficult to kill a king than it ever was to kill a prince.

Besides that, there was Nikolai. 

Nikolai who… would be a liability. He knew too much. She had only just thrown his suspicions off about her attempts at killing the Prince, but if she disappeared?

Any idiot could connect the dots. And Nikolai had proven to be more than an idiot.

“Need something?” the young gentleman leaning against the tavern’s doors asked her, raising his glass in question. Zoya smiled at him. She did not care much who he was or why he was whiling away his hours at the bottom of a bottle of kvas.

The only thing that interested her about him, was the two slips of paper just peeking out of his inside pocket.

“I can get us some clothes, but we still need invitations,” Nikolai had said, only moments before, when they’d discussed the matter.

“How do you intend to steal a ball gown and a suit with no one the wiser?” she’d snapped, then, noticing a young gentleman swaying towards the bar, stuffing something into his pocket, added, “and leave the invitations to me.”

“I can charm like a prince,” Nikolai said dryly, light brows high with amusement, “and how will you get the invitations?”

She’d smiled, “I can sing like a Siren.”

He’d laughed, and Zoya had felt her chest tighten. There was something Liliyana used to say,  _ the best way to falsify the truth is to mock it _ .

“I must have gotten lost,” Zoya said, taking a step closer to him. Drunk meant forgetful, and if she could just get him to hand those over… 

She didn’t miss the way his eyes roved over her, lips curving into a smirk. Idiot. 

Zoya opened her mouth, letting a soft tune tumble from her lips. The man had been unsteady before, but now he swayed with a rhythm, eyes taking on a glassy, slightly unfocused quality. 

She put her hand out, and without any resistance, the man reached into his pocket, retrieving two pristine invitations and handing them over. 

Zoya knew she should stop, but it had been days since she’d used her powers- and even then, unsuccessfully. It was like she’d finally been given breath to fill her lungs, and a part of her wanted to expand her song, to encompass the whole town and the guards, and everyone in it, including-

_ Nikolai _ .

She gasped, cutting off her song. The man stumbled back, dazed, and Zoya felt her heart pick up speed. She quickly hid the invitations, turning away before he could notice something amiss.

And before her mind could dwell on the exact reason she had stopped so abruptly.

_ Tonight _ , she reminded herself. She could get to Os Alta, find the Prince, kill- or perhaps settle for compelling him- and return to her family, to the farmlands she refused to let them take.

The alleyway the drunk had hidden behind was quiet, but the moment Zoya stepped out, the muted voices were highered and the people seemed to resume their shopping and gossiping. She had the uncomfortable feeling that she was being watched, and tucked her hand into her pocket, feeling for the knife she'd taken earlier. 

It was past midday now, and the ball would begin in only a few hours. Zoya let her gaze travel from one passerby to the next. Would they be at the ball? Would they recognize her? 

A horse-drawn carriage passed, the rhythm of hooves filling her thoughts so that she almost missed it.

The golden double eagle on the door.

The King's symbol.

The dress was made of a material as fine as silk, cinched around her waist to better show her curves, and a wide skirt. She glowered at the obnoxious sleeves, which looked like blown out pufferfish around her shoulders. The rich had an awful sense of fashion, she thought.

But what truly struck Zoya, aside from the ghastly style, was that the entire dress was deep black, like a jar of ink spilled over her body and falling to the floor.

"It's a Black Ball," said the shop owner, who was, for reasons Nikolai refused to give up, procuring them the necessary clothes for tonight's ball. "What did you expect?"

Zoya had only nodded, she couldn't well tell her that she'd never before attended a ball, as it would raise too many questions.

Her reflection looked tired, fresh bags under her eyes from lack of sleep, her pallor almost ashen. Stress, her aunt would say. Perhaps she  _ was _ in over her head, but now she could not simply walk away. 

The curtain sectioning out the changing rooms from the clothes shop slid open suddenly, startling Zoya, and revealing the beautiful red-headed woman that owned the place. She grinned at the sight of Zoya’s dress, looking eager.

"Perfect fit, just as I thought,” she said, “you look almost as good as me in that thing,”

Zoya frowned, uncertain if that was a compliment or an insult, but the girl had moved on quickly, snatching a hairbrush from a nearby dresser and beginning work on Zoya’s hair. Zoya considered warning her that her thick Suli hair would not be so easily tamed, particularly not with days out of the sea and longer without being brushed, but the woman seemed up for any challenge. 

“Up or down?" She asked, lifting a chunk of Zoya's hair and scrutinizing it in the mirror. "Don't answer that. Up."

Zoya raised her brows but said nothing. She could care less about how her hair was done up, especially when they were only hours away from Os Alta, and bigger matters were weighing on her mind.

"Why are you helping us?" Zoya asked.  _ Us _ . When had she and Nikolai become  _ us _ ?

She shook off the thought. The girl poked her head out from behind Zoya's hair and raised a brow at her reflection, amber eyes narrowed.

"You'd clearly be helpless without me- and yes I've already burned your other dress, the dreadful red thing."

It was a good thing, Zoya noted, that she’d taken the knife out before changing. She ran her hand down the length of the dress, feeling the metal strapped against her thigh. Ball or not, Zoya had to be prepared, and her song was becoming less and less reliable when more people were around.

When Nikolai was around.

"You can't expect me to believe you're helping us due solely to the hatred of a single color," Zoya replied, growing more irritated with the girl by the second.

In response, she tugged a strand of her hair back, harder than necessary. Zoya scowled at her in the mirror.

"I'm not helping  _ you _ , and I have nothing against the color red save that it clashes with my hair," the girl said.

"I don't look bad in red," Zoya pointed out.

"You'd look  _ much _ better in blue. Turn your head."

Zoya did as she was told, her mind wandering. Not helping  _ her _ ? Did she know Nikolai? What could lead a clothes shop owner to a privateer?

_ Unless she knew him before. _

Hadn't Nikolai said he'd been raised near the Prince? Perhaps this was his town. It was hard to tell with the way Nikolai watched every tavern, shop and town as if it  _ was _ his home. A sort of longing in his eyes. Zoya would have guessed that a man who'd spent his life sailing all over the globe would be restless in Ravka, find it unsatisfying, but he didn't seem to.

It reminded her of the way she felt when she was near the Sea. A place she wanted to protect. 

_ Soldiers of the Sea. _

" _ Keep your head straight _ !" Genya snapped, prompting Zoya to straighten her posture immediately. 

"I could do this in less than ten minutes," Zoya grumbled.

"And you'd do it ten times worse." 

By the time Genya- the name the girl had given her after she’d referred to her as a red-headed tornado- had finished styling Zoya’s hair- admittedly well, too- the sun had gone down and the town was washed in darkness, oil lanterns scattered around the streets like fireflies. 

The carriage they were in jostled and shook, the ride bumpier than she had expected, and having never been in a carriage before, Zoya was finding it difficult to remain seated. The curtained window was parted just slightly, and she entertained herself by watching the people as they passed them- with surprisingly great speed.

“Bad idea?” asked Nikolai, who’d been quietly seated across from her during the duration of their ride. He was dressed the way most of the men she’d seen had been, long coat secured with three decorative cords that fell just beneath the opening, which revealed the dress shirt he had on underneath. All of this, of course, in black.

“Your worst,” Zoya replied, because her nerves were already buzzing, thoughts and unanswered questions racing through her mind- would anyone give them information about the new King? Might he show up? If he did, would the once-Prince recognize her?

“At least we have these,” he said, tapping a finger against the mask he had on. A strip of leather with oval cuts framed his hazel eyes, making them appear brighter, like twin candles in the dark. 

“Thank the Saints for convenient acquaintances,” she replied drily. Nikolai winced visibly, lips tightening.

“David and Genya worked with me on my ship, they’re old friends,” he explained. 

“Worked with you?” Zoya asked with a frown. 

“A good privateer needs a good ship,” he said, and his smile carried a bit of pride. Zoya tried to recall what exactly the ship looked like, but her memories of that night were a blur of deep waters and bad decisions.

“My aunt used to say something similar- that a good country deserved a good king,” Zoya said, feeling strangely tied to the honesty for honesty game they’d abandoned. He’d shared something of his past, and it felt right that she did the same.

“Do you think Ravka has a good king?” he asked after a moment. Zoya did not answer immediately. She had always thought of Ravka as beyond restoration, that she should concern herself more with her family, and her second home, the sea. Slowly though, she had come to realize that she did care- more deeply than she wanted to admit. 

Was it possible to feel loyal to both the Sea  _ and  _ to Ravka? Did she want to?

“I think,” she replied, letting her gaze travel back to the window as the horses began to slow, the carriage steadily coming to a halt, “that it deserves one.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahh sorry for the long wait some adjustments had to be made !!  
> we're nearing the end tho !!

_ — Only you, only you can, _

_ you are unique _

The first thing that struck Zoya when they entered the ballroom was how impossibly high the ceiling was. 

The place seemed tinted gold, with low chandeliers and tile floors so pristine that the entire crowd seemed reflected in its surface. The second thing she noticed- and it was rather difficult  _ not  _ to- was the sense of grief that hung over the entire room. If the sea of black clad men and women was no indication, then the hushed voices or the band that played low music that bordered on sad would have to be.

“Well, isn’t this nice?” Nikolai asked, and despite his sarcastic tone, he had on a convincingly jovial grin, nodding politely to the strangers they passed.

“It’s considerably more refreshing than the last funeral I attended, I’ll say that,” Zoya replied, still eyeing the crowd warily. Everything seemed oddly dim.

Nikolai snorted, but she noticed him scanning the crowd with as much interest and skepticism as she was. Not that the pairs of men and women spinning in each other's arms left much to question.

But these sights were new to her only, so why did Nikolai seem troubled?

The attendees seemed to blend in with each other seamlessly, dressed, as they all were, the same, and Zoya found herself trying more accurately to mimic their postures and their smiles- leaning more into Nikolai the way the women were, and he in turn offering his elbow the way the men around them had done.

“Dance?” he asked, and though the question was directed at her, his eyes were on a couple in the center of the ballroom, identical, in her eyes, to every black-dressed, mask-wearing set they’d passed. 

“We’re here for information, not pleasure,” she snapped. Nikolai raised both brows at her, the quirk of his lips the only sign he was amused with half his face concealed by the mask.

“Whoever said we can’t have both?” 

Zoya opened her mouth to object, but Nikolai was already pulling her onto the dance floor, just as the symphony changed into something less unpleasant. The light seemed to shift as they neared the center of the room, casting Nikolai in a golden glow. 

_ I have a knife. I have my song. I have… _

No idea how to dance.

She glanced at the couple beside them, but their movements seemed synchronized, in tune with the music just as much as the orchestra itself was. 

"Relax," said Nikolai, bringing a hand to rest on her waist. Relaxing only increased in difficulty when he laced the fingers of his left hand with her right, raising their entwined hands the way everyone else seemed to be doing.

Zoya sucked in a breath, letting a hand come up to rest on Nikolai’s shoulder. She tried to focus on the actual dance, not his touch, which seemed to burn through the thin layers of her dress, or the soft smile on his lips as he guided her. 

Did her movements look as odd as they felt? Could they tell she had no experience in this sort of thing? The music picked up speed, finding a better pace, and the dancers were quick to match it. She stifled a surprised gasp when Nikolai spun her, directing them closer to the center of the room. 

“Warn me next time, you idiot!” she whispered furiously, catching herself before she could fall. Nikolai pulled her closer, adjusting her position.

“You can’t honestly tell me you don’t know how to dance, Zoya,” he said, flashing her a grin. She scowled at him, allowing her heeled shoe to find his toes. Nikolai yelped, and she had to admit it was a satisfying sound.

“You’re not so great yourself, pirate,” she snapped at him. He brought them a step back, leaned close, she noticed the bright contrast his honey-toned eyes made with the mask.

“Privateer,” he whispered, then pulled back and spun her around, catching her waist and grinning. Zoya contemplated punching him.

They fell into a somewhat smooth rhythm, although Zoya allowed herself to step on his feet when Nikolai became too cocky. He was a good dancer- not that she would ever admit that to him. The man had an ego the size of Ravka.

It occurred to Zoya, as he brought them twirling around the next couple, that this would be her last night with Nikolai. The realization did not sit well with her, something in her chest tightening.

Os Alta. The Prince. Her family’s farmlands.

And then she’d be gone. He would have his ship and she would have her land. Really, Zoya ought to have been ecstatic at the thought.

Just as easily as it had begun, the music came to a close, halting their movements. Zoya found that she was breathing heavily, unused to the twists and turns this extravagant form of dance required. 

“And here I thought you couldn’t dance,” Nikolai said with a grin.

“Any idiot can learn, Sturmhond,” Zoya replied, cocking a brow at him. But Nikolai didn’t take the bait, his face falling slightly. He opened his mouth to say something. Closed it. 

Something seemed off about him.

“No one you need to remember,” he murmured at last. Zoya frowned, the words echoing in her mind- the faraway memory of a Siren and a sailor trapped on an abandoned shore.

“What?” she asked, a little sharper than she'd intended. A moment ago he'd been the picture of elegance, now his brows were drawn with something akin to sorrow. Around them, people were shuffling off the dance floor, waiters offering them fresh drinks. Neither of them moved, still in the center of the room. 

“Your words,” he said, reaching out and brushing a stray hair behind her ear. Zoya froze, her thoughts halting at the touch. What was this about?

“Nikolai, what are you-” she began, quickly becoming more frustrated.

“Do you trust me?” he interrupted. 

Of course not. Maybe. A little.

“Yes,” her mouth betrayed her. 

His smile turned grim, eyes softening behind his mask, and in one movement, he cupped her face and leaned forward, pressing his lips to hers.

Oh.

Zoya barely had time to respond, leaning into his touch, fingers fisting in the material of his shirt, the fluttering of her heart, the intruding bit of pleasure rolling through her before he pulled back.

"I'm sorry," he whispered against her lips. Doors flew open somewhere in the background, she thought she heard footsteps approaching, but refused to tear her gaze away from Nikolai's.

His hazel eyes bore into hers, almost apologetic.  _ Sorry? _

Swiftly, he let his hand rise from where he'd cupped her cheek, hooking it into the leather mask concealing her face, pulling it off. Her heart dropped. No one was meant to know their identities.

"Nikolai-" she began, but he'd taken a step back, away from her, snatching off his own mask as well.

"Guards!" He called, his voice loud, echoing in the large room. Zoya's heart was beating a mile a minute, her mind trying to catch up with what was happening. There were more people. 

A man stood at the front of the room, and as Zoya glanced hurriedly from one person to the next, she realized she recognized him from the posters- the late King's right hand man. Tall, bearded, hollow-eyed. Crown on his head.

The new King of Ravka. 

"Seize her!" Nikolai said. He'd straightened, and even with his hair falling into his eyes, the change in his demeanor was evident.

"By who's orders?" someone- a guard? One of the attendees?- called.

Nikolai's eyes found her's, and there was nothing apologetic in them now. She had thought something was off about him all day, but now she could pinpoint it.

He looked regal.

"By orders," he said, and Zoya knew before he finished his sentence that she should have left him to drown all those days ago, "of the second Prince of Ravka."


	10. Chapter 10

_ — At last. Alas _

_ it is a boring song _

It had always been Zoya’s intention to arrive in Ravka’s capital, Os Alta. She had not, however, anticipated that her wrists would be bound when she did. 

When Zoya had first come to live with Liliyana, she had not been permitted to use her abilities on others. It had been Liliyana’s ideology that no person deserved to have their free will stripped from them. Zoya supposed if every person applied that concept, they might live in a very different world.

But Zoya had quickly learned that humans were greedy, both with their money and their power. It was why they hunted Sirens- the fear of another being taking control of them, of wielding any form of power over humans, terrified them. 

She recalled little of her life before she’d come to land, when she’d been a siren girl just like any other, but Zoya clung to the few memories she did have, desperate to prove to herself that she was someone, that at some point, she had belonged somewhere. But even those were painful to revisit. Flashes of a beautiful woman with the same eyes Zoya saw when she glanced at the mirror, a melody pouring from her parted lips, at once splendid and terrifying. 

The first hunt, the day Zoya’s mother and the rest of the Sirens had attacked the Ravkan ships returning from the Fjerdan borders, already weak and worn. Here, Zoya could not even trust her own mind, because this part of the story had been told by so many different mouths, the truth was lost to them. Some said the Sirens had intended to take over the Ravkan waters, to claim them as they once had centuries before. Others said it was the sailors that had begun the battle- careless soldiers who’d seen beautiful women perched on the shoreline and had thrown themselves after them thoughtlessly.

Zoya had long since deemed the truth worthless. Did it matter which room a fire started in once it consumed the whole house? She had hardly been able to swim at the time, but her mother had sent her into hiding, and then had never joined her. For months she watched the colors of the ocean change from beneath its surface, but never dared peak out and ascertain whether it was day or night. And when at last she did, she’d been completely alone- a girl lost at sea, and then a Siren lost on land.

So while Liliyana’s beliefs remained firm, Zoya had taken to practicing in secret. A verse here to shift a vendor’s attention away when her siblings were craving  _ Syrniki,  _ a soft melody to remind the client that he had intended to pay more for their goods. And with these careful tests she conducted, Zoya began to understand her abilities, and with that, their limits.

A Siren’s song was a marvel, and on a single person, it’s effects had no bounds. On two, the effect was dampened, not quite as strong, but sufficient. By three, it could hardly alter their thoughts. And with each addition, it’s influence weakened.

Which meant that Zoya could not have undertaken the guards, the guests, and the King at once. But that did not stop her mind from torturing her with scenario after scenario of how she might have gotten away.

_ I’m sorry _ .

Zoya shoved the words as far back into the depths of her mind as they would go, tried to smother the well of hatred and hurt that rose when they replayed in her mind. She could not afford to be hurt. 

She could only allow herself to be angry.

The cell she was being held in, after having been arrested, tossed into a carriage and brought straight to the capital, and its most _lavish_ dungeons, was cold and dank. Nothing but the rock walls and floor to ceiling bars could be seen in the dark.

A single torch was lit somewhere in the hall opposite the cells, and it served only to reflect the shadow of the three guards patrolling them. 

_At least they don't know I'm a Siren_ , she reasoned. And if they did, they were taking no precautions against her ability.

She let loose a frustrated breath. With every passing second, Zoya was finding it more difficult to sit still, her thoughts torturous and the feeling of helplessness only growing.

They hadn’t taken her knife, likely not having suspected that a girl at a ball would be carrying any weapons at all. Zoya slid it out from beneath the layers of silk that formed her skirt, needing to keep a tenacious grip on something firm and real- something that could protect her- to feel anything but powerless.

The blade glinted in the firelight, and Zoya let her thumb trail along its hilt. Could she compel a guard to open her cell? Perhaps she could distract the other two with a song. 

How far could a single knife get her?

She heard a sound, a clang that indicated something had been dropped. Zoya frowned, waiting to hear the other guards, laughing perhaps, at their companion, or shuffling to retrieve whatever had fallen. 

No sound. Where were the guards?

She stood, tucking the knife behind her back. She could just make out the torch against the rock wall, and a single figure standing before it, features awash in the golden light.

Zoya sucked in a sharp breath, her grip on the knife tightening. 

“You’ll like Os Alta better in the daytime,” said Nikolai, approaching her cell. He had changed into a red ensemble more befitting of a prince. She snarled at him.

“I’ll like it better when I’m out of this cell,” she spat out. Nikolai winced, as though being reminded of their situation pained him. When she was the one in a jail cell and he had a fresh set of pretty clothes. 

“I never intended to take you in like that,” he said, coming close enough to the bars of her cell that she could have just extended a hand to touch him, if she wanted. 

“And I never intended to kill you,” she said, one hand snaking out between the bars to grasp the material of his shirt, pulling him flush against the bars.

Her knife glinted in the firelight as she pressed the blade against his throat, “and yet.”

Nikolai flashed her a rueful smile, hazel eyes unnervingly calm, he hadn’t even made a move to defend himself. “We both know there’s a more efficient way to kill me, Zoya,”

She froze, fingers loosening their grip on his shirt just slightly, her eyes going wide.

“You knew?” she whispered, heart beating furiously against her chest.

Nikolai raised a light brow, looking unconcerned, “Of course,”

“How?” she demanded. 

He gave her a very grave look, “you talk in your sleep.”

Zoya jabbed the knife’s edge against his skin, eliciting a hiss.

“No,” she said, her voice low and firm, “I don’t.”

“Alright,” he said, less humorous now that the threat of the knife seemed more real, “I followed you- in the last town, I worried you may have run into trouble acquiring the invitations-” Zoya’s narrowed her eyes at him. _W_ _ orried? _ “-and I heard your song.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke, nothing but their breathing to fill the silence.

“Is that why you turned me in?” she asked quietly. Nikolai blanched, looking genuinely surprised.

“Of course not!” he said, eyes wide, “But that was when I realized we could not just walk into Os Alta- the second prince and the Siren they’d been chasing. We would have disappeared as quickly as we’d showed up.”

Something cold settled in Zoya’s stomach at his words.  _ They would have made us disappear _ , she realized.

“They wouldn’t kill a prince,” she said, disbelievingly.

“They killed my father- the King. My mother was forced out of the country. My brother is missing-”

“He’s dead.” she said, though it didn’t bring her any satisfaction to say. Nikolai sighed, leaning his head against the cool metal and shutting his eyes tight.

Zoya let her hands fall away, though her grip on the knife remained firm. If he knew about her song and had not brought along any guards, then the knife would do little to alarm him.

“Who’s ‘they’?” she asked after a moment. Nikolai’s eyes opened a crack.

“I can’t be certain, but the nice gentleman currently wearing my father’s crown seems to be a logical suspect.”

Zoya eyed him, waiting for something more. With Nikolai, it seemed, there was always more. 

“The Apparat has been in the castle ever since I was a boy,” he began, fingers tracing a shape against the bar, “he was my father’s right hand man, the only person he trusted with absolutely everything-  _ Saints  _ know why. Before we left- Vasya and me, that is- my father became paranoid that the Fjerdans were attempting to assassinate him. He wouldn’t speak to a soul, terrified my mother. The only man he would allow into the Throne Room was the Apparat.”

Nikolai’s eyes found hers, searching, “My family may not be my greatest pride, but this country is. You once told me that you thought Ravka deserved a good king. Would it be too presumptuous to think I’d make a decent one?”

Zoya looked at him a long moment, then took a step back from the bars, away. “Key, Lantsov. Then we’ll talk,”

A small smile appeared on his face, as though she’d granted him the throne with just those words, and sure enough, he slipped out a rusted key from his pocket and inserted it into the lock, letting the bars fall open under his touch.

Nikolai stepped back, giving her room. Zoya’s grip on the knife tightened. She could kill him. She _should_. 

Instead, she strode out of the cell and slammed the door shut behind her. She never wanted to see the inside of those dungeons again. She turned to face Nikolai, noting the way his face had changed in the light, the way he seemed to have aged in the hours since they’d danced at the ball. 

"What exactly do you intend to do?" she asked, realizing that if he did know about her song, and hadn't told anyone else, Nikolai had a plan.

The corners of his lips turned up in a smile, something dark, so unlike his usual jovial grins. " _ We _ are going to rid Ravka of the false king, and put a Lantsov on the throne."


	11. Chapter 11

_ — But it works every time. _

Three things happened when Ravka’s prince returned to Os Alta.

The first was that the Apparat, who had taken temporary charge, relinquished the crown, prayed for the young Prince who would soon become the young King, then promptly left for a holiday at the Wandering Isle.

The second was the decision to halt all progress on turning the farmlands at Ravka’s outskirts into a racecourse, as had been intended, and the increased funding to some of the smaller villages often left forgotten by those in power. This pleased the citizens, who welcomed Ravka’s Prince back with open arms.

The third, and the one less people knew about, was that the night of the King’s coronation, as aristocrats and citizens of Ravka flooded the halls, a single person slipped away, steps leading her against the tide of people, away from Os Alta, and back to a small farm a little ways off from Os Kervo.

  
  


Zoya Nazyalensky had very little patience to spare for anyone who was not Zoya Nazyalensky.

And her brother, Akeno, was testing those limits at that moment. He was crouched behind a rusted, old wagon with a single broken handle, a book in his lap, narrowing his dark eyes at her.

“You can’t make me till the soil,” he snapped, in a tone alarmingly similar to Zoya’s own sharp voice.

Zoya raised a brow.

“I won’t have to. If you don’t do it, I’ll tell Liliyana we no longer need a second carriage to the city, and you can stay here while Dia, Anita and the rest go off to school next month.”

She wouldn’t do that, of course- she had been the one to suggest the idea in the first place. A new school, funded by the King himself, had opened only a few towns over, near Os Alta. And with the increased income on the farmlands, and the additional help coming the following month to aid Mariana with the farms, there was no reason for the children to stay.

Akeno’s eyes widened all the same at her threat- he loved to learn, and was constantly slipping away from work to read some of the old books a neighbor had given him. And while Zoya was immensely proud of him, the boy still had to help while he was with them.

He scowled at her, standing up and dusting off his pants before stalking away. She thought he muttered something like  _ you wouldn’t do it anyway _ , but she pretended not to hear, letting him grab one of the ards leaning against the wall and drag it behind him as he walked away.

Zoya huffed, making a mental note to check on his progress before she went to Mariana’s. She wasn’t entirely sure what they needed her for, but she was unsurprised at the call. It had been two weeks since the King’s letter reached them, and with it the news that their lands were once again their own, and that the money they’d been offered as trade was now merely a gift from the Capital. Two weeks since Zoya had taken responsibility for managing those new funds- splitting it between the villagers, setting some aside for new tools and supplies. Since her return, she had visited nearly every household to discuss the matter with them.

Something caught her eye- a flash of gold, and she whirled around to catch a better glimpse. But it was only Efrim, light brown hair catching the sunlight at the wrong angle. She shook herself off, irritated with the way her heart had sped so quickly. That was another thing that had taken place two weeks ago.

Zoya had left Os Alta, and she hadn’t seen Nikolai since.

Which was natural, when a person had gone from privateer to prince to king in a matter of days. Still, she couldn’t completely block out thoughts of him, despite her best efforts. It was hard not to when he was the main topic of discussion everywhere she went- the _generous_ new king, the _handsome_ new king, the _weak_ new king.

She’d had to clench her jaw against defending him at times- lest she let slip exactly where she’d been and with whom for the week of her absence. Liliyana had not asked about it. When Zoya had appeared at her doorstep long after dark, she’d simply let out a resigned sigh and let her in. When Zoya had hesitated, having expected a harsh reprimand, Liliyana merely said:  _ You are grown, Rybka, I can no longer shield you from the world- you must discover it yourself _ . And no one else dared to ask.

Which was good. She did not want anyone knowing too much, admittedly because those were days she treasured- ones where he’d just been a foolish boy and she’d been the girl who’d saved him. It was pathetic, but she allowed herself to lock them away, not daring to look back on the memories too closely, to scrutinize what had happened and let her mind slip into what-ifs she couldn’t afford.

Tossing her hair over her shoulder, Zoya straightened and began stalking towards the residence of Mariana and Radmir Fyodorov, a simple wooden house identical to the other villagers’ own, scattered around the farmlands, with an old, rickety porch that seemed unstable, but managed to hold the weight of everyone in the area when Mariana had them all over for late night gatherings.

Zoya still took caution as it dipped and creaked beneath her weight when she approached the door, before knocking and taking a step back.

She couldn’t be certain what the woman needed her for, but Efrim had seemed excited when he’d told her she was needed. Had their clients agreed to the new arrangement? Would their harvest be spread to the cities for the same price as it had cost to deliver to the neighboring towns? Zoya thought she’d heard a carriage arrive hours ago, was that why she’d been called on?

Voices from inside the house reached her, and she frowned. She could almost swear… 

The door flew open, revealing a man who was very much not Mariana standing in the doorway- dressed in slacks and a rumpled shirt, golden hair messy and hazel eyes amused. Really, one could not have possibly guessed it was Ravka’s King.

Zoya froze at the sight of him- surely her thoughts hadn’t also made her delusional? Then Mariana appeared behind him, a soft smile touching her lips.

“So, _this_ is Zoya,” said the man, the smallest quirk to his lips as he extended a hand, “it feels like we’ve met already”

Zoya narrowed her eyes at him- what game was he playing?

“I can come back if it’s a bad time, Mariana,” she said, ignoring his hand, which he shrugged and let slip into his pocket instead.

“Nonsense! Come, Sturmhond made an enchanting type of tea to drink as we settle some matters,” she said, already turning away.

Zoya cocked a brow, _Sturmhond?_ She mouthed.

Nikolai winked, drawing back into the house and leaving her with no choice but to follow.

He had lost his mind. Or she had, Zoya could hardly tell at this point, but she was making her way through the small living room anyway- sunken couches, a cardigan draped over a table, newspapers scattered on the floor- she wondered what the place looked like to a king. 

Nikolai didn’t seem to mind it at all- he looked comfortable, in fact. If she hadn’t personally seen the crown on his head, she might’ve thought his own living situation was no different

True to her word, Mariana had three steaming cups of tea placed on the small round table stuffed into her small kitchen, partially blocking off the doorway. She had them sit, talking the whole time, something Zoya couldn’t focus on about how the weather was turning. She watched him lounge in one of Mariana’s mismatched chairs, looking positively ridiculous with the bright orange and pink stripes behind him. 

_ What is he doing here? _

She tried to catch his eye and ask, or even cut him a well-deserved glare, but Nikolai seemed to be completely engaged in the conversation. She scowled, taking a sip of her own tea. She had to admit it was pretty good- herbs with a touch of something citric she couldn’t quite put a finger on.

“-it’s beautiful, truly, I’ve always loved the countryside- but not everyone has the skills needed for this type of trade.” Nikolai was saying. Zoya wanted to roll her eyes, but she held back, sipping at her tea instead.

After a few more moments of pointless chit chat that made Zoya want to throw her empty teacup at Nikolai, Mariana set down her cup, her steady gaze coming to rest on Zoya.

“Well, I suppose we ought to discuss business, yes?” she said, her voice going from hostess to manager in a millisecond. 

Zoya straightened, _finally_ , she thought. Another second of pretending she had a clue what was going on was going to kill her.

“Yesterday, we received a shipment order, from the city.” Mariana began, and Zoya felt her shoulders droop with relief- usually, only the farms owned by dukes and nobles ever reached that far, which left little room for their own business to blossom. It was all due to some rule that claimed only farms whose owners resided within the gates of Os Alta were permitted to sell there- something the last king had established out of some misplaced fear of being poisoned.

Which, she supposed, he had been right in the end. 

Zoya glanced at Nikolai, but he was fiddling with his cup, not meeting her eyes. This was good news, of course, but she wanted to know how exactly he fit into it. Why was he here?

“We’ve been waiting for an opportunity like this for a while, you know that,” Mariana went on, “even with the fresh funds, winter is approaching and the goods won’t last that long when stored- especially not when so many others are competing on the same market.”

Zoya nodded once, this was something they’d discussed before, yet another issue the two of them had been working to resolve.

“How is it we have orders?” she asked. Mariana was the owner of the farmlands, and she resided here, with them, not in Os Alta.

Mariana pursed her lips, reaching for something Zoya hadn’t noticed, resting on the table’s center, an envelope. She handed it to Zoya. 

“I requested that someone be here, so there isn’t any confusion,” she was saying. Zoya’s gaze darted to Nikolai before landing on the envelope again. “We were told a Tolya Yul-Bataar would be here, but Sturmhond was a pleasant surprise.”

Zoya broke the seal, slipping out the papers. She unfolded it, began skimming the words, her gaze landing on the two signatures at the bottom, and the empty space below.

She sucked in a breath, “you’re selling the farm?”

Mariana smiled, a sad smile that deepened the lines around her mouth, “I’m an old woman, Zoya, I can’t leave for the city- but I won’t let this opportunity slip away. My options are to sell it to a person residing in Os Alta, or…”

She trailed off. Zoya frowned, “or?”

“Or to pass them on to someone else. Someone who might be willing to leave for Os Alta to handle our business there.”

Zoya’s brows furrowed- to someone? From the farmlands? Who would be-

“Oh,” she said, her mind at last connecting the dots. “Me?”

Mariana nodded, her smile soft. Zoya wondered if she was hallucinating, Mariana giving up the farmlands? To Zoya? And the matter of leaving for the city… 

“Mariana-” she began, but the older woman interrupted her.

“I’ve made up my mind, Zoya. It would please my heart if I knew a person I trusted was at the head of my legacy, but even if you disagree, the farmlands will go to someone else.”

Zoya’s heart sank. There was no way to talk her out of this.

“You have some time to think,” she said, “come back tomorrow and we’ll finalize some matters.”

Zoya nodded, feeling like she’d been tossed into someone else’s dream- disoriented, confused. She managed to get up, to leave- fresh air, that’s what she needed. And then she was outside, leaning against the porch rail.

How had things changed so fast? Only weeks ago she’d been fighting for the farmlands to remain theirs- and now? Her siblings would be off to school, Liliyana had deemed her free to do as she pleased, and Mariana wanted to sell the farmlands.

Zoya clenched her fists, trying to picture what some aristocrat from Os Alta would do with their farms- would a single decision be left to the villagers? What demands might they make? How much of the profits would be theirs?

She let her head drop into her hands, feeling a headache begin at her right temple. The door to Mariana’s house creaked as it was opened, prompting Zoya to look up. And there stood her other problem.

“The city is beautiful during the daytime,” said Nikolai, coming to lean his elbows on the porch railing. “You left before you had the chance to explore it.”

His voice turned quiet, and Zoya felt a sharp sting of guilt, which she ignored. 

“I might return just yet,” she muttered in response. Nikolai looked a bit surprised, something like hope crossing his features.

“You’re agreeing?” he asked. Zoya crossed her arms, glancing away.

“Maybe. I don't know,” she admitted, “what exactly are you doing here, _Sturmhond?_ ”

“Poor Tolya deserved a break,” he replied, furrowing his brows, “it’s possible I’m overworking him.”

Zoya noted the slight stiffness in his posture and wondered if Tolya was the only person he’d been overworking.

“How nice of you," she said drily.

Nikolai shrugged, "Here's hoping word spreads that the King is handsome, debonair, and compassionate,"

"You'd lie to your people?" she said, cocking a brow at him.

He scoffed, "well I'm charming, at the least"

"Quite the trip to prove your generosity," she said.

Nikolai's eyes slid to hers, honey toned and bright. 

"There is one thing," he said, pushing off the rail and slipping a thin envelope out of his pocket, not unlike the one Mariana had shown her, only this one was sealed with the Ravkan double eagle. He handed it to her.

"What is this?" She asked, eyeing him warily, but he only shrugged, leaning back against the railing and crossing his arms.

Zoya sighed, running a finger over the golden seal once before breaking it and slipping out its contents.

It appeared to be a document, made of something thicker than regular paper. Zoya frowned as she unfolded it and began reading through the lines.

It felt more like reading a speech, paragraphs about equality and righting previous wrongs, all of which left Zoya confused until she reached the last lines, which were more direct.

She sucked in a sharp breath, "Nikolai, what is this?" 

"This is what should have happened years ago. It becomes official tomorrow, but I thought you might like to see it first." He said, a small smile touching his lips.

Zoya's eyes darted back to the paper, reading the lines again in case she'd misunderstood. But she hadn't.

This was an official statement, from the King of Ravka, banning the hunting of Sirens, and deeming that they should be left to themselves.

She shook her head, disbelievingly- the monarchy had been allowing- no _encouraging_ people to hunt Sirens since Zoya was a little girl. Every day of her life had been spent hiding, careful to use her powers only when necessary and only when she could ascertain that she wouldn't be caught.

"Why?" She asked finally, her gaze snapping back up to Nikolai's.

"Because it wasn't fair," he said with a shrug, then with a quirk of his lips, "though it may have to do with a certain Siren saving the King's life."

"Lucky king," she muttered in response.

Neither of them spoke for a moment, and she found it difficult to comprehend exactly how much in her life had changed within the last ten minutes. When had things begun to escalate so quickly? 

Nikolai pushed off the rail, straightening, "I should get going," he said, "Ravka won't run itself in my absence."

He started to leave, then hesitated, glancing back at Zoya.

"Come to Os Alta," he said, eyes flicking over her face, "it hasn't felt right since you left."

"Nikolai…" Zoya became suddenly aware that they were standing only inches apart. She swallowed, "why are you here?"

The corner of his mouth quirked up into a half smile, and he reached out to tug on a loose strand of her hair teasingly, "you never said goodbye."

Then he turned away and was gone, leaving Zoya alone on the porch, with a million fresh thoughts buzzing through her brain.

The main one being that perhaps moving to the city wasn't such an awful idea after all.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading I hope u liked the fic!! many people contributed to making this work come to life so here are the links to all the art pieces and edits that you should definitely go check out!!  
> [@montherox](https://tmblr.co/mP-6ypjGWsdEOSpcNNOYzjQ) [[here](https://montherox.tumblr.com/post/628265127853031425/super-excited-for-grishaverse-big-bang-2020-one)] [@kingdombrekker](https://tmblr.co/mZ38kA5pyJLGNhN-FnKwc6w) [[here](https://kingdombrekker.tumblr.com/post/628264438757244929/grishaversebigbang-nikolai-and-zoya-for)] [@angelawongart](https://tmblr.co/m-mrvDtH4mh7Ey1FtiPTLFQ) [[here](https://angelawongart.tumblr.com/post/628265060255612928/im-so-excited-to-share-my-first-grishaverse-big)] [@jjelliacee](https://tmblr.co/mSBrdlTCy4fVsrbTWvGV-rw) [[here](https://jjelliacee.tumblr.com/post/628265732907646976/soldier-of-the-sea-its-an-old-phrase-from-a)] @tsaritsa-zoya [[here](https://tsaritsa-zoya.tumblr.com/post/628264406146531328/nikolai-lantsov-for-gang-25-the-sailor-and-the), [here](https://tsaritsa-zoya.tumblr.com/post/628264412846981120/the-sailor-and-the-siren)] [@someofgennie](https://tmblr.co/m2g-4U58EpFGG1DQQo_cfow) [[here](https://someofgennie.tumblr.com/post/628265036705644544/nikolai-lantsov-ang-zoya-nazyalensky-from-the)]


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